


Echoes of Silence (Larry Stylinson)

by Coquetlouis



Category: Harry Styles - Fandom, Louis Tomlinson - Fandom, One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Abusive Parents, Anal, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Artist Louis, Artist Zayn, Asylum, Blow Jobs, Bottom Louis, Boys Kissing, Crazy Harry, Crazy Louis, Daddy Kink, Dark Harry, Doctor Liam Payne, Eventual Romance, First Kiss, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Gay, Innocent Louis, Kinky Harry, Larry Stylinson Is Real, Loss of Virginity, Louis in Glasses, M/M, Mystery, Praise Kink, Protective Harry, Rimming, Roommates, Size Kink, Stalking, Sub Louis, Suspense, Teen Romance, Top Harry, Virgin Louis, Zayn Malik & Louis Tomlinson Friendship, harry plays chess, is louis actually crazy, lou's dad's best friend is a hairbrush, louis draws, louis's dad is in the asylum, so is Harry, they tend to a butterfly garden
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-14 13:34:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11784219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coquetlouis/pseuds/Coquetlouis
Summary: A rambunctious father, a talking hair brush, an overly-cheerful blond, and a dead garden.Pessimist Louis Tomlinson finds many quirky things when his terrible mother finally has him visit his father at the nearest asylum.However, the most memorable thing he discovers is the mysterious, quiet man with chapped lips and green abysses for eyes.





	1. VISIT.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this. I always appreciate seeing feedback. I wrote this a while ago and finally decided to post what I had for your enjoyment. Hope you like it!

Louis felt a strange hand take his wrist, his eyes flying open. He breathed out in relief at the sight of his mother, shaking his arm to wake him while bouncing Louis's baby half-sister on her hip.

 

"Go get ready, you have to leave in twenty minutes." she ordered, focusing more on the infant wailing in her ear. Doris was always a crabby baby when she was in her mother's arms, but Louis knew exactly how to calm her down. All you had to do was kiss the cartilage of her ear and make little buzzing noises against it to make her giggle. But his mother had no time for that.

 

The boy groaned quietly, pushing aside the blankets. Nausea was already pitting itself in his stomach at the thought of what he was getting ready for. But, the seventeen year old was true to his word. He would go visit his deadbeat dad if it meant pleasing his mother for once. He had pestered her with too many questions, and it was time to go get them answered himself.

 

Louis Tomlinson stretched his arms, letting out a groan as he felt all of his muscles loosen. He shuffled to the one bathroom of their home, stripping of his pajama pants and boxers. He may as well look good if he's really doing this. The shower went by quickly, maybe because he wanted it to be slow or because his mother banged on the door after five minutes, yelling about an expensive water bill. In his defense, he rarely got to take showers, so he wanted to cherish the time he had alone.

 

He wrapped a towel around his petite waist, gazing in the mirror at himself for a moment. He saw his dad in himself, and it sickened the boy that he looked like his sick fuck of a father. He brushed his teeth and slipped on boxers, combing his fingers through his hair. He hadn't even seen the man since he was eight, maybe he'd gotten better.

 

Louis doubted it.

 

The sink was half his size, cheap and low to the ground. The mirror had one dim bulb attached to it, the only thing shedding light in his bathroom. He had gotten used to being poor by now; his mother popped out children faster than she paid the bills. Louis couldn't help but be bitter about it.

 

"Five minutes, Louis!" his mother hollered over his half-sister's cries, causing him to sigh. She wouldn't even give him a ride; he had to drive to the asylum all by himself. He had to see his father all by himself. She claimed it would be good for him, but he figured she just couldn't handle seeing his dad. It was no secret his mother regretted having the children, especially with such a crazy man.

 

Louis knew his mother feared that he would inherit his father's schizophrenia, and he was at the perfect age where the symptoms would begin to show. He feared it himself, if he was honest.

 

The boy pushed his black frames up the bridge of his nose, slipping on a striped shirt. Well, his only shirt other than the ragged one that had a gaping hole in the armpit. His hair was damp and fluffy, bright blue eyes fluttering to gaze in the mirror. He slipped on a pair of khakis, hooking on his suspenders.

 

He knew he probably looked like a dork, but he quit caring when his mother did.

 

He waved a feeble bid of goodbye to his family, picking up the truck keys. He hated the family truck, but it was all they had. Louis sighed at the low rumble reverberating as he drove, hands gripping the wheel. He didn't bother turning on the radio, for he knew it was all shit music anyway. He preferred the classical music his art teacher would play at school.

 

Forty minutes of silence and a low growl of the rusted truck later, Louis found himself parked outside a huge building with a drive thru bag clutched in his hand. He didn't eat breakfast and decided to stop at the greasy fast food chain that was on the way. He gasped quietly at first arriving, unsure if he got the right address or not. But judging from the sign out front, he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

 

The place was made decades ago by some saint or nun. He wasn't positive. It was called a "medical institution for the mentally unstable" or some bullshit like that, but Louis knew better. It was an asylum for the wackos that were too loony to not keep confined. All the fuck-ups.

 

The building wasn't too terrible, but it looked . . . Gloomy.

 

There weren't many windows from what he could tell, and a fence surrounded the brick building. Yes, brick. It was all cracked, the shingles on the roof missing, and the vomit colored flowers out front didn't make the place any more welcoming. While taking a few steps closer to the front doors, Louis spotted an area titled "The Butterfly Garden". It was a few scraggly bushes and plants squashed around a small pathway. It appeared to have been abandoned for years.

 

The teenager couldn't help but roll his eyes before stepping inside the institution after being confirmed by a couple of guards and throwing away his fast food bag. He was trying to act nonchalant, as if he'd been through this process before. But he hadn't, and he was nearly shaking in his dirty sneakers. Dirty. Louis was always dirty.

 

He hated to be the poor kid at his school, but it was him. His hair was always greasier than everybody else's, because he had to sacrifice his showers so his younger sisters could take them. As he waited to be allowed to enter with a visitor's pass, Louis tried to think of how he could improve his image.

 

But then again, why did it matter? It didn't; he just had to survive high school and take care of his family. He had always been considered the man of the house since his dad was always too off his rocker to step up, which made Louis bitter. He was always bitter, always wanted to-

 

"Name?"

 

His head snapped up, eyes wide as he stared down the woman at the front desk. She was wearing hospital scrubs, and had a terrible perm, he noted.

 

"Louis Tomlinson, here to see Beaufort Tomlinson." he whispered, not wanting anybody to know his name. It was a disgrace to be a Tomlinson.

 

She didn't seem to take regard that his old man was a nutter as she printed off a name tag with "LEWIS TOMLINSON" typed across it. _Was it really that fucking hard to spell "Louis" right?_ She handed it to him and pointed to a door to Louis's right.

 

"The visiting room is in there. They'll all be in there. Beaufort is usually playing chess with Silas in the corner though." she stated shortly, nodding her head slowly. She hadn't even looked at Louis the entire time, her eyes transfixed on the computer screen.

 

"Thanks." He said curtly and strode to the doors. He felt nervousness coil inside him like a viper, and he was stuck outside the door.

 

"Fuck." he mumbled to himself, his fingertips tapping against the handle of the door as he thought to himself. Who was Silas and why was he playing cards with Lou's dad? Why was Lou's dad so crazy? Why was Lou here alone on a Saturday?

 

"Uh," he heard behind him.

 

Louis whipped around in surprise to come face to face with a blonde male around his age, who seemed to be highly amused at how much he'd surprised Louis.

 

"Sorry," he laughed a little louder than necessary, his shoulders shaking with each merry chortle. Louis could tell he was a natural optimist, and he didn't like it. "Is this your first time here?"

 

Louis nodded.

 

"Oh, cool. Is your grandpa here?"

 

Louis shook his head.

 

"Oh. Uh, your dad?"

 

Louis nodded again.

 

"What's your name?"

 

"Louis," he whispered hesitantly.

 

"You sure?"

 

"What do you mean?" Louis furrowed his eyebrows.

 

"You didn't sound too sure of yourself." the male grinned happily at Louis. "But I'm Niall, in case if you were wondering."

 

"I wasn't," Louis murmured and shoved his hands into the front pockets of his khaki pants.

 

Niall's face fell infinitesimally, but the smile still played across his face. "It's alright, this is your first time here. I get it, you're a little nervous a bunch of psycho axe murderers are going to come sprinting your way. But that won't happen, I promise. They're all people, just like me and you."

 

Louis merely stared as Niall spieled on, because he just wanted to zip in and out of this visit and the longer he stood here stalling the longer it would take to get home.

 

"I'm gonna . . . " the boy trailed off, gesturing to the double doors of the visiting room.

 

"Oh! Right! Sorry, you're probably excited and have been waiting a while for this moment. I forget sometimes. I'll come with. I came to see my cousin. I haven't seen him in two months, can you believe it?" Niall chortled.

 

Louis nodded his head and grasped the handle of the door, not knowing what at all was about to happen. He wished his mother was with him. Not the mother that was sitting at home with his multiple siblings, but the mother from ten years ago.

 

The mother that loved him enough to make him dinner once in a while and showed little affections towards him.

 

He remembered a very long time ago, on his seventh birthday when his father was taking his medicine and had a job, his mother made him a cake. It was not an ordinary circular cake, though. At the time, little first grade Louis had an obsession with racecars. His mom slaved away in the kitchen until she baked a cake _shaped like a racecar._ Louis was the happiest boy in the world at that moment, and his mother kissed his forehead and gave him a brazen eskimo kiss.

 

But that mother was now nonexistent in Louis's mind and he had to open the door by himself.

 

He swung it open and analyzed the huge room around him, his legs feeling like jello. He shuffled inside, seeing nothing but grey walls and grey tiles. Niall didn't seem to notice, but maybe he just wasn't as observant as Louis or was used to it all. But Louis saw every shred of depression in the atmosphere and he was suffocating on it. Every breath of air he took seemed to suck in a piece of every patient's soul, and he didn't like the way that felt.

 

There were eight long, visiting tables on each side of the room, and Louis watched Niall walk over to an elderly man with large glasses that made his eyes look big and shiny. He had headphones in and was clapping to the beat of a song. The catch was, the headphones weren't connected to anything. Louis wondered why his cousin was so old. Behind them was a cluster of couches and more of a lounging area, even housing a box television. Plenty of patients in the same outfits (blue shirt, blue pants) were sitting at tables, talking to visitors or themselves. Everyone had odd little tendencies it seemed, including a man at a couch nibbling at his toenail.

 

Louis furrowed his eyebrows at the sight and remembered the words of the woman, that his dad played chess with Silas in the corner of the room. He scanned past the tables of visitors, trying not to eavesdrop since some of the topics he heard were rather disturbing, and finally saw the back of a man's head.

 

It wasn't hard to determine who it was, because Louis knew that's what his hair looked like from behind: ruffled and feathery brown. His mother could never tame the little poof in the back when he was young; his hair just sprouted out how it pleased. Except this head of hair had tinges of grey in it, and there was a growing bald spot at the top that Louis didn't quite have. But there was no doubt in the boy's mind as he forced his feet to move past Niall and towards the man that it was his father.  
  
  


 

 


	2. BEAUFORT.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis meets his father after years.

 

By the time Louis made it over to his father, he had bumped into at least four middle aged men. "'Scuse me, sorry." he mumbled under his breath, not expecting anybody to actually respond. Why would they? They had all lost their minds and judging from everybody's age, this seemed like more of a nursing home than an institution. Perhaps there was a children's wing for the exceedingly fucked up adolescents somewhere deeper in the building.

 

He couldn't get over the smell, either. Whiffs of bleach and body odor was hitting him with every step he made. He didn't understand how someone could live in such a musky place, but then he remembered where he lived.

 

Louis's hands were trembling by the time he finally reached the man he knew to be his father. _More like sperm donor, what kind of father is he?_ Louis thought to himself. His saliva was thick in his mouth, and it was like swallowing a pill when he gulped down his fear.

 

"Bew-furt?" He stammered out, causing the man's head to raise at the complete mispronunciation of his name.

 

Louis felt like he was looking in a mirror. It was his dad, thirty years older than Louis but still his twin. He had brilliant blue eyes, but these days they looked a little like paint that had been watered down until the blue was faded. His face had wrinkles, too many for a man of his age, that caved in and escalated into more wrinkles. It was probably from all of the smoking he once did. He had Louis's thin pair of lips, and the perky, elfish nose. Even the ruffled hair and petite appendages.

 

"Whoa! It's my kid! How long has it been? Seven, eight months?" The man grinned, and Louis began to think he looked more like his mother when he took sight of the yellowed, chipped teeth his father had.

 

His voice caught him by complete surprise; although their faces had similarities, Beaufort had a far deeper, hoarser voice.

 

"Try ten years, Beaufort." Louis couldn't help but chuckle at how much of a loon is father was. His dad's face fell, glancing over at the chair across from him. He was incredibly serious, suddenly, and it made Louis feel more uncomfortable than he already was.

 

"Would you believe that, Silas? Ten years." He whispered, a wry smile playing across his face. It was clear it wasn't just that Beaufort was schizophrenic, he was just _crazy._

 

"So uh, the chair is Silas?" Louis asked awkwardly, but it seemed only he noticed the odd tension in the air.

 

Beaufort rolled his eyes and looked at his son, as if he was the crazy one. "Silas is the one _sitting_ in the chair, kid." he mumbled and pointed at a downward angle, releasing a hoarse, nauseating chuckle.

 

Louis glanced down and saw a hair brush, a woman's hairbrush with googly eyes that seemed to be stuck on with some form of adhesive. What had he gotten himself into?

 

"Oh, wow." he murmured and lifted the brush, examining it for a moment. "That is really uh, something." He took a seat next to "Silas" and rested his hands on top of the table.

 

"So, why are you here?" His father asked with curious eyes, his hands placed on the table just like Louis's. They had a few random tattoos, and it peaked the boy's curiosity.

 

Louis moved his hands to his lap.

 

"Well, I decided now would probably be the time to visit, you know, now that I am finally becoming of age." he said, his eyes focused on a man who was trying to write on the wall with a spoon, mumbling pi to himself as he did.

 

"Interesting, how's Jay doing?" Beaufort questioned, referring to Louis's mother. The aging man seemed to get distracted easily, especially by the brush near him.

 

He didn't want to speak the actual truth to his dad, didn't want to be reminded of the mess he'd return to after leaving this asylum. He hated thinking of how much she had spiraled into a bad mother, and it was a shame for the sake of his younger siblings. Perhaps it was the fact most were born from one night stands that had sprouted into abusive boyfriends that never lasted.

 

"She's doing fine." Lou spoke, his fingers twisting together as he gazed around at the area around him. He wasn't so nervous, more so awkward and unknowing of what to say. What were they even supposed to talk about? How do you catch someone up on your life when they were absent from it for ten years?

 

"She used to send me little Christmas cards and shit of you and the girls. There's eighty more girls since I was around or something. Jo married?" He asked, coughing into his elbow. It was a disgusting hack and revealed how many years the man smoked before getting locked in the nutty house.

 

"Oh, no she's not. There's Ernest and Doris now, yes. Oh, Phoebe and Daisy, too." he confirmed, letting himself focus on Beaufort, who was checking his sleeve to see if any phlegm at smeared on it. Louis tried not to gag.

 

"Decent, decent. So she's still available?" He grinned, putting his yellow teeth on display. A few were missing here and there, and it truly bothered Louis.

 

"Erm," Louis spoke uncomfortably, his hands sweating at the palms.

 

Beaufort threw his head back and let out a cackle. "I'm just fuckin' with you, kid. Your mom is about as desirable as old Wallace over there." He jerked his head over in the direction of an obese man in a wheel chair, picking at his scabbed face with dazed eyes.

 

Louis swallowed once more, glancing down at his hands. He had no idea what to say, and he was unsure if it was appropriate to laugh about his bitch mother being compared to a fat loon. His father was leaning over towards him by now, his shoulders hunched over with his eyes narrowed. "You come back next time, okay? We can talk about more important things. Just know kid, I'm on your side. Me and Silas, he is too. All the others? Well, they are the enemy." he winked before leaning back against his chair once more, his arms crossed over his chest.

 

All the boy could do was nod and stand from his chair. He wanted to leave, for he was quickly overwhelmed by his father's crazy and he wasn't sure if he felt like crying or not. What a fragile boy he could be. "It was nice seeing you but I gotta run . . . Lots of homework and stuff." he shrugged, tongue tripping over his words.

 

"You don't have to lie, I know you want to get out of here. I do too. Go on, go." And then Beaufort was cackling again, his head thrown back as he waved his hands to shoo Louis away.

 

"Okay, well, it was cool to see you again . . . " Louis trailed off, turning on his heel and speeding towards the door.

 

"Hey! Lou-whee!"

 

He groaned quietly and turned to the speaker, who turned out to be the boy from earlier, Niall. Louis reluctantly trudged over to him after a quick inner debate as to whether he should. But he was no longer with the elderly man; instead, he was with a figure who had a grey hoodie on over his uniform. The hood was pulled over his head, and Louis almost wondered if the person was sleeping.

 

"Uh, yes?" he asked impatiently, wanting to get home already. He could imagine his mother growing angry at how long he'd been gone.

 

Niall put his perfectly straight teeth on display with a goofy grin, glancing back at the psycho with his hoodie up. "This is my cousin." He stated, and Louis stood there. What else was he supposed to do? Congratulate him?

 

"Uh, okay . . ." he trailed off, giving the hooded man a quizzical look. Was the hooded man a mute? "Well, what about that old guy?" he asked quietly, feeling his cheeks heat up.

 

"That's Rodney, he likes to play cards with us sometimes. Cute as a button he is, isn't he?" he turned to his cousin before rolling his eyes. "For God's sakes, take that off your head, you look like a hoodlum." He hissed, tapping the table with his fingertips a couple times.

 

Niall tugged the hood off and revealed a mop of brunet ringlets, wild and overgrown. From underneath the wild locks of hair, a pair of jade eyes peeked out to observe Louis hesitantly. He was _much_ younger than any other patient here, Louis noted. Why wasn't he in the children's ward?

 

"Harry, this is Louis. C'mon, I was _just talking about him._ " Niall pressed on, his eyes lit with excitement as he spoke, trying to initiate his cousin into the conversation, but all Harry did was stare at Louis.

 

"Listen, I'd love to stay but . . . " Louis lost his words, feeling a little uncomfortable from all the staring he was receiving from Niall's cousin. He didn't know how to respond to a mute. This place wasn't meant for him.

 

"Then stay." The male rasped out, his facial expression blank. The deep rumble of his voice caused Louis to jump a bit, sincerely startled at the lowness.

 

"But-"

 

"Stay." he spoke in a firmer tone, gazing at Louis with an arched eyebrow. This Harry guy knew Louis was full of excuses, and it was obvious he had no shame pointing them out for the boy.

 

Louis glanced back at his father, whose back was turned on him. He was hunched over, just like when he spoke to his son just moments ago. This place was overwhelming.

 

"Harry, cut him some slack. It's his first time here, he's probably wanting to process. You can make friends next time." Niall glanced over and winked at Louis, and although the seventeen year old appreciated the kind gesture, the sweet aura floating off the blonde's body was becoming too much.

 

Harry nodded once and stood up, striding out of the room and through the double doors that Louis assumed led to the patients' rooms.

 

"Huh, guess our visit is over. Eh, he does that sometimes. I'm gonna stick around and talk to Rodney some, I'll see you around Louis." Niall smiled and held out his hand for Louis to shake.

 

Louis reached out to take it, and he cringed when Niall grasped his tiny hand. He hated touching others, it reminded him of things he never wanted to speak of and his skin was always burning hot after.

 

"Okay," he spoke and he was sure his hand felt like a limp fish, but at this point he didn't care. He walked out of the building after striding through the exit, running his fingers through his hair. He was slick with sweat, panting from just being in the place. He never wanted to go again, never wanted to drag himself out of bed to see that lunatic father of his.

 

He strode over to the dirty truck, climbing in. What was he ever going to do with his life?

 

The ride home seemed to be excruciatingly slow, and the truck began to give little creaks.

 

It started as a gentle burn, but it escalated to tears streaming down his cheeks. It caused his lips to swell, his vision to blur, and his grip to tighten around the wheel.

 

The thought of being in that institution, seeing all of those glazed faces that were mostly medicated to the point of being damaged beyond repair. He never wanted to go there, never wanted to see his father. His mother was right when she warned him.

 

He shouldn't have questioned her so much about Beaufort. He should've taken her word that he was scum, but he didn't. He insisted on learning about him until she forced him to go visit.

 

What Louis really wanted was to have his mother run her fingers gently through his hair and make him a cup of tea. He wanted her to soothe him and tell him it was all going to be okay, tell him funny stories that were sure to make him chuckle. But that was before his father got institutionalized, and now she was cold hearted, just like her son.

 

Once he was driving into town, the tears were cascading down and dripping onto his shirt. His nose was running, dribbling onto the bow of his upper lip. He didn't care who saw him, he didn't. His dad hadn't changed like he'd secretly hoped, and his mother wasn't going to mention it when he came home. She wouldn't ask how it went; she would just glance at him and throw frozen fishsticks in the oven for the girls.

 

Louis would go into his and Ernest's room, and he would sketch in his notebook for his art class that his mother didn't even know he was taking. He would draw pictures of a lonely garden and hairbrushes and his father to burn the image into his memory.

 

And maybe, just maybe, he would draw a photo on his fancy cream-colored paper Mr. Vogt gave to him. Maybe it would be a photo of that hooded boy with the curly hair named Harry, and perhaps he'd use his favorite colored pencil to sketch in the vibrant green of the boy's irises.

 

Harry's eyes were more verdurous than the garden that was outside the institution.

 

He didn't know how he predicted his night so accurately, but Louis found himself in his room at midnight shading the face of an enigmatic boy he was barely even acquainted with.

 


	3. LIBRARY.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis delves more into his father's mental issues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment and give feedback! All is appreciated, all is welcome.

To say Louis was exhausted would be an understatement. He barely slept, his dreams constantly being corrupt with visions of rotten teeth and a dirty hairbrush. Unfortunately for him (and it seemed misfortune was always seeking him out, since Lou was a particularly unlucky boy), Louis had school on Monday morning. He was certainly not looking forward to it, and when his Mother pounded on the door of his bedroom, he merely groaned.

 

"Louis, you have to take the girls to school!" she hollered, causing Ernest to awaken. The baby boy let out a pitiful mewl, stirring in his crib. Louis's head raised to stare at his brother, frowning. He was his siblings' only father figure, it was his job to care for them while his mom tended to her own bullshit.

 

"Ernie," he grumbled out tiredly, standing from the bed. He immediately saw all black for a few seconds, feeling lightheaded. He glanced over at his nightstand, where a drawing of a curly haired stranger rested.

 

Louis shook his head and went to the crib that was crammed in the corner of the room, lifting his brother up. "What's wrong, bub?" he frowned and kissed the pudgy part of Ernest's cheek.

 

The baby was wanting milk, and unfortunately Louis's nipples couldn't supply. Ernest wailed out for a bottle, and Louis couldn't help but wish his brother would shut up so he could get ten minutes more of sleep. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case.

 

Louis swung open the door, cradling Ernie in one arm. His mother was on the sunken couch in the living room, smoking a cigarette while Doris laid on the floor. She was whimpering, trying to receive attention from her mother, but that never happened. She'd learn soon, Louis figured.

 

"Hurry up, the girls are ready." Jay said simply, her eyes locked on the television screen. Profanities were voiced out of the speakers, and Louis hated that his little siblings were subjected to this.

 

"Maybe you could make some breakfast while I get dressed," Louis snapped, causing his mother's eyes to detach from the screen.

 

"Do I look like a personal cook for you?" she snapped, cigarette smoke clouding around her face. She shoved the butt of her smoke into the ashtray next to her, shaking her head at her sassy son.

 

"Maybe you could get up and take your own kids to school, like a real parent." Louis's voice raised, his clutch tightening on his brother. He was quick to anger, especially in the morning.

 

"And maybe you could move out, like a real adult." Jay said smoothly, her eyes showing that she was livid.

 

Louis knew she had every ability to kick him out of the home, and as much as he'd love to live somewhere else, the kids needed him. They'd never get anywhere in life without him, and he didn't even know if they'd stay alive. They were the only people in the world he loved; he'd never abandon them.

 

"Oh shut up and feed your kid." he handed Ernest over to his mother, walking out quickly before he could watch her lift her shirt.

 

"Just you wait, Louis! You won't feel so slick when your fucking birthday rolls around!" He heard her holler.

 

Louis got changed into his clothes he wore every day: his striped shirt, ragged jeans, and a pair of generic shoes from the store. He combed over his hair, feeling like nothing but a sewer rat.

 

"Girls! School!" he yelled after brushing his teeth. Breakfast wasn't necessary, he could wait until lunch time. This was the last two weeks of school for Louis, and he was ecstatic to _finally_ graduate. Then he could get a full time job, possibly find a house for him and the kids.

 

Lottie, Fizzy, Daisy, and Phoebe were all greasy haired little girls with the same blue eyes and hunched over posture as Louis. But just because they were dirty didn't mean they weren't absolutely adorable. Louis thought they were the cutest little girls, and that they inherited all the best genes from Jay. They shuffled tiredly outside, clutching their backpacks. They needn't worry about lunch: the school offered free lunch to the poor children.

 

Louis didn't know how they all somehow crammed in the rickety old truck every morning, but they managed to. The twins and Fizzy piled in the back seat, while Lottie constantly called shotgun. She admired Louis the most out of all the siblings, she was closer to him than all her other siblings. Well, except maybe Fizzy, but that was just because they were close in age.

 

Lottie was eleven, and she was just growing into a young woman which she thought was very special. She no longer played with her baby dolls, which were now passed down to Fizzy and the twin girls. Except they didn't know what to do with babies other than let them lay on the floor, for that's what their mommy always did.

 

Lottie played with her hair while Louis drove, trying to make herself a little more presentable on the way to school. Louis knew that his little sister was reaching the age where the kids at school began to notice money status and judged people by their looks, and he was scared for her. He hated bullies.

 

He finally reached the elementary school his four sisters attended, parking out front so he could carry Daisy and Phoebe inside. They always cried if he didn't, and he thought Fizzy and Lottie secretly enjoyed their big brother coming in with them.

 

So, he did exactly that. He scooped up each twin in his arms, kissing their soft brown hair at the tops of their heads. The girls had their thumbs in their mouths, just nearing the end of their kindergarten. They were a full day kindergarten of course, since his mother didn't want to take care of them and feed them lunch.

 

Louis trudged inside, the humid summer air causing his sisters' hair to frizz. They didn't really mind, and Louis was glad for it. He set his little sisters down onto the polished floor, rubbing their backs affectionately.

 

"Be good, okay? We don't want Mother getting another phone call do we?" he directed this more towards Daisy than anyone, since she was a bit of a troublemaker.

 

The toddler (she may be in kindergarten, but she was still a toddler, even a baby, to Louis) grinned mischievously, showing the missing gap where one of her front teeth should be.

 

Louis chuckled lightheartedly. "There is no doubt in my mind that you are a Tomlinson." he murmured, pressing brazen kisses to each of their foreheads.

 

Lottie tried to play it off cool by wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. Louis rolled his eyes and waved goodbye when they walked together to the gym where all the other children were. He went back to the rickety old truck, turning it on to let it grumble lowly.

 

When he reached his school, a little piece of dread buried itself inside him, because he hated this place. He wished he'd have dropped out sooner, but it was too late now. He wondered if his mother would even attend his graduation ceremony. He didn't even know if he would.

 

He parked a far distance away, because he hated the parking lot of his school. It was packed, and every vehicle that was there would be nicer than the old family truck. He didn't understand why his mother didn't just buy a van, but supposedly the truck was only $200, according to his mother. She'd got it from a "family friend", a man that owned a lot of run down vehicles. Louis would bet money Jay took his manhood in her mouth for their truck, because that was just the way she was. He learned to live with it.

 

-

 

Louis's favorite hour of the day (other than Art) was his study hall, because that meant he could go to the library. Louis loved to read, but he had something different to do today.

 

He paced inside the large room, where shelves of books were lined on the right. The walls were a dull brown color, and the carpet was a mix that looked dark green. On the other side of the room was the librarian's desk, with a few cushioned chairs surrounding it. Students were sat there, mostly football players and popular girls that liked to talk and goof around, leaving Louis to find a spot for himself.

 

He didn't mind; in fact, he hated sitting near them, afraid his IQ level would drop a few points with each word he heard from a jock's mouth. He walked over to sit behind a Historical Fiction bookshelf, because it wasn't like anybody would ever want to read that shit. He'd never heard somebody say, "Oh yeah, my favorite genre? Definitely Historical Fiction!"

 

Clutched in his hand was his 'netbook', a small laptop that each student was given to use for homework. It was free, and he had to return it at the end of the school year. His mother didn't know about it, just like she didn't know her son was a talented artist who was taking AP Art. Mr. Vogt told Louis multiple colleges were offering him scholarships for his artwork, but Louis knew that he had to put the kids before his education.

 

He got comfortable on the hard, carpeted floor and opened his netbook. His fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently out of habit. His fingernails were bitten to the nub, and it was hard to scratch so Louis merely tugged. "Let's see what this is all about." he mumbled to himself, searching what exactly schizophrenia was.

 

He knew the general idea of it, but he needed extra information to truly understand his father's illness. With a simple search on Google, he found all he was looking for.

 

_"Schizophrenia is a brain disorder in which people interpret reality abnormally. Symptoms include belief that an ordinary event has special and personal meaning, belief that thoughts aren't one's own, delusion, disorientation, making things up, memory loss, mental confusion, slowness in activity and thought, and false belief of superiority._

_Behavioral symptoms include aggression, agitation, compulsive behavior, excitability, hostility, nonsense word repetition, repetitive movements, self-harm, social isolation, disorganized behavior, or lack of restraint._

_Their mood symptoms are anger, apathy, excitement, feeling detached from self, general discontent, inability to feel pleasure, elevated mood, or inappropriate emotional response._

_Psychological symptoms include anxiety, depression, fear, hallucination, paranoia, persecutory delusion, religious delusions, hearing voices, or mistrust._

_Speech can be circumstantial, incoherent, rapid and frenzied, or impaired."_

 

Before he could delve further into the web information, Louis was distracted by the voices of two girls, and it seemed to be they were behind the shelf, whispering.

 

"I know, he's so weird." The first spoke, causing the boy's ears to perk up.

 

"He always wears that shirt, and I hear he's got _six_ siblings." The other said in a hushed voice, and Lou realized that these girls were speaking of him.

 

"His mom is a total slut, they used to call her Kitty Crackhead," the first replied, before they both burst into a fit of quiet giggles.

 

Anger coiled inside Louis's stomach, and a burning hatred towards his mother seethed through him. If he had two loving, supportive, _normal_ parents, he and his siblings wouldn't be this way. They wouldn't be gossiped about in such a humiliating way.

 

Louis grabbed his netbook and stood from the floor, ignoring the ache in his bum from sitting so uncomfortably. He swooped his head over to look in the other aisle, ready to curse out a couple of girls. He cleared his throat, eyes flashing with pure anger when they gazed down the next aisle.

 

But it was completely empty, nothing but a pile of books at the end. Louis swallowed thickly, a bad feeling crawling up the back of his throat and he thought he might vomit. He turned on his heel and strode quickly out of the library, having no concern over whether or not the bell rang yet.

 

It's not like anybody noticed him, though. Nobody noticed a boy like Louis Tomlinson.

 


	4. JOB.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis finds himself a job to help support his family.

School was nearly at a close, and to say Louis was excited would be an understatement. He was absolutely thrilled, as were his younger sisters. It was only a matter of time before he was an adult.

 

"Are you going to become a doctor after school?" asked Daisy, who had strawberry jam smeared all over her face.

 

Louis chuckled at the absurd idea, shaking his head as he wiped her clean with a damp napkin. When he came home the night before, his mother had left to see "a friend". He'd been taking care of the kids since, and expected her home by the afternoon.

 

It was a Friday, but school was cancelled due to a School Improvement Day.

 

"No, sweetheart. But maybe you can be a doctor when you're done with school. How does that sound?" he smiled fondly at the six year old, noticing a few pieces of her hair were stuck to her cheeks from the jam residue.

 

"Don't doctors stick their fingers up people's butts? That's what Georgie said!" his loud mouthed sister exclaimed.

 

Her twin, Phoebe, scoffed and shook her head. "No, Georgie said that's what veterinarians do!" she retorted just as loudly.

 

Louis let them bicker, shaking his head with a goofy grin spread across his face. He heard pitiful whimpers from the other room and assumed it was Doris. He was correct.

 

As soon as he went into the girls' bedroom, Doris was stood in the middle of her crib, hands waving for her brother.

 

"I'm here, for God's sake." he mumbled, lifting the whining baby. He was usually very good with children, and enjoyed the company of them, but caring for four children and two infants had Louis's patience dwindling.

 

He was growing frustrated that her diaper wasn't going on properly. "If you'd quit being such a _wiggleworm_." he seethed through his teeth, when he finally, _finally_ , heard the door open.

 

Jay was wearing a tube top (something Louis didn't enjoy seeing his mother wear) and shorts that seemed to have no legs to them. She pointed over at her eldest child, her demeanor dazed.

 

"You. You're getting a job." she told Louis, who immediately furrowed his eyebrows, lifting Doris up from the changing table.

 

"What do you mean? I can't." he stated, resting the pouty little girl on his hip.

 

"You can, and you will. It's about time you step up and take responsibility since you're the man of the house. I've been cutting you slack for too long, and now you need a job." she spieled out, her hands rested on her hips.

 

"Mother, I watch the girls and Ern all the time! Who's going to watch them while I work?" he looked at her incredulously, shaking his head slowly.

 

Jay merely raised an eyebrow at him. Was _she_ going to watch _her own kids_? "Lottie is old enough now that she can look out for her younger siblings. Changing diapers and feeding mouths is not rocket science." she condemned her son, words dripping with sarcasm.

 

The male stood, holding onto his sister tightly. "Then why don't you ever do it?" he shook his head and turned on his heel, frustration going through the roof. Why did he and his precious sisters and Ernest have to be born into a family such as this?

 

He continued to hold Doris, cradling her in his arms as he planted himself on his bed. He couldn't call Child Protective Services, for Jay was manipulative when she wanted to be and the kids would be separated. For now, he was stuck job searching on his netbook with Doris clutched in his other arm. What was he possibly going to do?

 

-

 

_"I swear, it was right here two fucking minutes ago!" he heard his father yell once again. Clatter. Bang. Stomp, stomp, stomp._

 

_Beaufort stood in front of young Louis Tomlinson, eyebrows furrowed and eyes showing how truly pissed he was. He looked livid and quite frankly, scary. Lou trembled on the couch, watching his pregnant mother walk in._

 

_"Beaufort, quit being ridiculous, you're scaring him!" Jay scolded her husband, dark circles underneath her vivid blue eyes._

 

_He whipped his head around, seething through clenched teeth, jaw set as his wife raised her voice. She still wore her wedding band, a tiny diamond ring bought from a pawn shop when they were just teenagers in love. His wedding band was sold to buy Louis's crib when Jay first got pregnant._

 

_"You've been hiding my stuff, I know you have! It is not here, my blue and white pair of tennis shoes and my book on astrology." he accused her, a scarred finger pointing in her direction._

 

_She adjusted the red top that accentuated the bump of her belly, shaking her head with a sigh. He was doing it again._

 

_"Beau, I haven't. I wouldn't do that. Please, let's not do this in front of Lou." she gestured towards their son, who was quivering on the couch. They'd just gotten it with their paychecks combined, and they were proud of it._

 

_Jay and Beaufort used to lay on the carpet of their home, glasses of moscato in their hands while they spoke of their dreams and goals they'd share together as a wedded couple. That all changed now, of course, and Beaufort would never give Jay the time of day._

 

_"Daddy?" Louis whispered, his voice cracking. He was so petite for his age, and Jay secretly wished that he would grow in case he needed to defend himself._

 

_Beaufort turned to his son, eyes wide and nearly bloodshot. "What is it, Tommo?" he asked, licking over his lips quickly. It was a fast swipe of the tongue, but it was enough to fleck saliva onto his son's face._

 

_"When are you going to be able to play soccer with me?" the boy asked timidly, his ruffled and feathery brunet hair a mess atop his head._

 

_Beaufort merely threw his head back and laughed, a rough hand grasping his frail son's shoulder. "Son, the day your mother quits being a good for nothing, stealing wife, I'll play catch with you."_

 

_Then Beaufort turned to his pregnant wife and slapped her across the face, yelling about how he'd never see his astrology book again because of her._

 

_-_

 

Louis was weak. He decided right when he woke up, after a pleasant dream, that he needed to go to the asylum to distract himself from his surroundings. Louis pulled into the institution around noon, another fast food bag clutched in his hand. He decided to carry it inside to eat this time, not wanting to be stuck playing with his fingers while his father spoke. He wanted to keep busy.

 

He got his visitor's pass once again, this time from a very heavy man who perspired quite a lot. Louis cringed and thanked him lowly, wearing the same outfit he did the week before. It was always the same outfit.

 

His father was waiting in the same spot this time, and Louis frowned as he thought back on why Beaufort was here. In his mind, Louis figured that if Beaufort wasn't crazy he'd be living a very comfortable life. But perhaps that wasn't true at all.

 

He held onto the bag of food, eyes scanning the tables and people. It didn't take him long to spot a mess of curls and hear a loud, obnoxious laugh that could only be Niall's. Harry was sitting with his back facing Lou, hands rested on the surface of the table. Niall seemed to be doing all the talking, and Lou figured that's how it always was.

 

He shuffled over to his father, who was playing with Silas. Louis didn't understand him, but he supposed it got lonely in a place like this.

 

"Lou- whee!" Beaufort wheezed out, waving his arms like a maniac to greet his only son. Why did everybody call him that? Nobody really glanced over, because it was normal for people to act crazy here.

 

"Hello, Beaufort." he greeted, taking a seat at the table, right across from his father. He had a little bit more stubble than he did the week before; Louis figured he was too lazy to shave the growing prickles.

 

"Hey, kid. You look different. Did you get a haircut? I hear some barbers like to wash their scissors in pig blood, so watch out." Beaufort said in one quick breath, startling his son. He used to be accustomed to the crazy talk, but he hadn't heard it in years and it threw him through a loop.

 

Louis's jaw stayed slack, staring at Beaufort (who was far too busy playing with the little bristles of Silas to look at his son). His eyes trailed over to the pair that was staring at him; he knew without having to look who it was.

 

Harry was gazing over at him, and Niall seemed to be speaking in a low voice, not wanting any other ears to hear him. Louis was curious as to what they were saying. His eyes were glued onto the pair of young men, tuning out whatever his delusional father had to say.

 

"What've you got in that bag, kid?" Beaufort's head jerked towards the fast food bag Louis was still clutching on. He glanced down at it and blinked over at his father, snapping out of his thoughts.

 

"Just a burger with some fries." he said, eyes gazing back over at the messy haired man sitting a few tables away. Louis noticed that he messed up Harry's nose in the drawing he did the week before now that he really looked at him. There was a slight curve to it that he didn't notice before.

 

"You never liked fries as a kid. You always spit your potatoes out and they looked like globs of coconut oil. I've got a coconut candle in my room, but I'm only allowed to smell it. Lot of pyromaniacs in here." Beaufort continued to speak, itching at the back of his neck.

 

Louis realized his father actually remembered that he wasn't fond of fries. He remembered always crinkling his nose funnily at the taste, and to this day he still did.

 

"Mom always ate them for me." Louis reminisced, thinking back on when they were just another family. They weren't struggling so terribly, until everything collapsed beneath them.

 

"She did. She was odd, that Jo. Always dipping her chicken nugget in caramel, can you believe it? I loved her odd ways." Beaufort stated with a clear fondness in his eyes. Louis didn't have the heart to tell him that it was sweet and sour sauce rather than caramel, because his crazy dad really loved the image he painted of Lou's mom.

 

"I remember when she was knocked right up with you, she wanted to name you the oddest names but I came to love them later on after you were already named." Beaufort rolled his eyes, causing Louis to chortle quietly.

 

"What kind of names?" he asked quietly, tilting his head to the side to indicate that he was listening to his father. He had more patience within him than he did during the first visit.

 

"Oh things like Alistair, Percival, and stuff. The one she was truly set on though, was Silas." The middle aged man grinned like a fool and jerked his head towards the hairbrush in his hand. Louis felt his cheeks heat up, unable to help himself. He thought of being named Silas Tomlinson, and was secretly relieved he wound up to be Louis.

 

"I never knew that." was all he murmured, staring up at his weary, prematurely wrinkled father. Beaufort merely grinned and shook his head.

 

"Worst names I ever heard came from your mom's mouth. What'd she name the new monsters in your house?" he asked, causing Louis to snort.

 

"Says the man named Beaufort," he retorted, glancing over at Harry and Niall to his right. "Their names are Doris and Ernest." he reminded in an undertone, immediately being followed by a loud cackle from Beaufort.

 

"No doubt in my mind that you're my son, kid, there's no doubt." he mumbled under his breath, gazing over at Louis, who gave him a sheepish smile.

 

He searched on the sparsely decorated wall for the clock, finally spotting it. "Fuck," he cursed, realizing he had his interview at a nearby movie theater the following morning, and still had a load of homework to complete before making dinner for the girls.

 

"Go on," Beaufort chuckled, waving his hands in a goofy fashion. Louis smiled, just barely, before standing from his chair. He twiddled his fingers to form a feeble wave, turning on his heel to head towards the door.

 

He was nearing Harry and Niall, swallowing thickly, the cold fast food he never ate clutched in his hand.

 

"Louis!" Niall bellowed, grinning happily at the smaller boy. Did he ever act neutral? Why was he always so happy?

 

He furrowed his eyebrows, wondering why in the name of God's green earth Niall thought they were friends. "Hello," he greeted once again, tugging the truck's keys out of his front pocket.

 

"Well, what's going on?" Niall grinned, looking up at the male from the metal chair he was hunched over on.

 

"Nothing, really. I'm just going to go, I've got an interview tomorrow." he sighed out, fiddling with the bag in his hand. Harry's eyes were peering up at him curiously.

 

"Oh, that sounds like fun! I hope you get the job. What's it for?" Niall gave him a dazzling grin, tilting his head slightly.

 

Louis frowned out of habit, eyebrows crinkling together. "Well, it's at the local movie theater. Just downtown, I dunno, most people go to the one out of town." he ran his fingers through his hair, taking the chance to glance over at Harry. He was too good for this place, Louis could just see innocence all over him. Fuck, he still had a baby face it seemed. How old was he?

 

Niall nodded and laughed, causing Louis to look confused, because he really didn't know what was so funny about him. Rodney, the old man they always hung around and played cards with, tapped Niall's shoulder. Louis took his chance during that moment to approach Harry.

 

It was then that he noticed a faint scar from underneath his ear, that vined down until his clothes covered it. How did Harry get such a gruesome scar? His eyes flickered back up to the male, and the only word Louis could find to describe the male was _pretty_. He was simply a pretty young man and Louis was trying to think of something witty to say, something that would make Harry think highly of him.

 

Harry had an aura that not many others had; it was one that made Louis feel the need to be liked by him. Louis desperately wanted to impress the male, so incredibly desperately. But being antisocial, weird Louis Tomlinson, he said the first thing that appeared in his brain.

 

"Would you like some French fries that are highly saturated with salt?" he blurted out, a blush spilling across his cheeks.

 

Harry didn't have any reaction, merely glanced over at Niall with a stern look, but Niall seemed lost into his conversation with Rodney. "Of course, haven't had fries in a while." he finally decided, hands clasped before him.

 

Louis took a spot next to him, taking the unhealthy carb sticks out of the grease stained paper bag. _Dammit, Louis, you're so stupid. Really? Saturated fries?Â_ "Don't you get tired of this?" he questioned, his voice barely shaking, which he was highly proud of himself for controlling.

 

"Tired of what?" the male rasped out, eyes vivid and face emotionless. He was gorgeous, and it wasn't that Louis liked him, it was simply a fact. Nobody could deny it, Harry was just a gorgeous man. You'd be crazy to think otherwise.

 

"You know, being here. Having the same routine every single day. Being called crazy by them." Louis mused aloud.

 

"But I am crazy." Harry spoke, seeming completely confident at his conclusion about himself.

 

"What makes you say that?" Louis's nervousness had subsided slightly, focused on Harry by now. He had a calming sense to him, and although he said few words, he was a likable person. Louis wished he could be that way, then he'd have more friends . . . well, any friends at all would work.

 

"Some things taint your behavioral growth and emotional capacity beyond repair." he said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, his long fingers intertwined together. One of his hands reached for a lukewarm fry, taking a small bite.

 

"Well, still, don't you get tired of being here? You've got a knack for avoiding questions, Harry." Louis said in a bit of a fiery tone, raising an eyebrow at the male. He couldn't be any older than twenty, not at all. So how did he wind up here?

 

Harry chuckled and smiled wryly, not at all genuinely, gazing over at Louis. A light coat of salt covered his fingertips, the smaller boy noticed, and he always licked it off his own. He thought everybody did. But the messy haired male left the salt on his fingers, rubbing them together slowly, almost in a methodical way.

 

"You don't get it do you?" He asked Louis, eyes showing amusement. But the smaller male didn't understand what was so humorous.

 

"Well, no. I asked you a question for an answer." Louis fired back, eyebrows furrowing together with confusion. What was this Harry boy playing at?

 

The male began to chuckle, which was the cause of Louis giving him a sneer. That seemed to make Harry chuckle even more, in a dry and rasped manner. The institution seemed to have sucked the life out of him, for his chuckles were dryer than deserts. He leaned over closer to petite Louis, gazing at him through his thick lashes.

 

"When you take a crazy person to an asylum, you're just sending him back home. Perhaps one day, you'll find out where your home is, but here, I am glad I already know where I belong." he whispered, hands clasped together, before he reached over and squeezed Louis's wrist in his warm, greased hand. The salt rubbed against Louis's palm, a friction he'd never experienced surging through him. He hadn't been touched by another (other than his snot nosed siblings) in years.

 

Louis decided he liked it.

 


	5. EXALTED.

Louis didn't understand why everybody had such a hatred for Mondays, when in his opinion, Wednesdays were the worst. You woke up, knowing the week was only half  over. Louis would roll out of bed, knowing the next few days would drawl on just like the few days before. Who wanted to go on with their day knowing that? He just didn't get it. 

On that Wednesday, Louis attended school as usual. People gave him odd looks with quirked eyebrows, as usual. He became accustomed to the looks by now, and always shrugged it off, or barely even noticed. Why would he? They were just people, just like him. Except they let vanity and pride get in their way, blocking out what was truly important. Louis couldn't blame them; only devastating tragedies usually kicked sense into people. 

He carried his sketchbook to Art class, his very last hour of the day. A pencil was tucked behind his ear, and he knew he probably looked disgusting. He got over it.

The art room was across the building, and Louis passed what seemed to be the whole school, including a cluster of girls that were whispering and a bunch of football players laughing obnoxiously. He rolled his eyes, strolling into his AP Art class. He was working on his final sculpture, and it was almost finished. 

"Hello, Louis." Mr. Vogt greeted him, his shirt tucked in tightly over his large belly, weight gained from what Louis guessed to be a failing marriage. He respected the man either way, for he was the only person that talked to him. 

"Hey," Louis breathed out, keeping his head tucked down to stare at his dirt covered sneaker laces. There wasn't many students in AP Art, since most quit after a couple years. They were mostly young women, and the occasional artsy guy. 

People filed in after Louis arrived (he was always early, since people talked to their friends between periods and he didn't). One of them was the girl that sat next to him, Eleanor. She always seemed to have a fair amount of cleavage showing and long, brunette hair. If she didn't sneer at him so much, Louis would think she'd be pretty.

She sat next to him, yet it was the farthest distance possible. Mr. Vogt had set their sculptures onto the tables, and Louis was nearly squirming with anticipation to work on his final project. 

He began as soon as the bell rang; although, he was slow paced and unsure if he'd finish in time. Eleanor was doing something dumb, sculpting a penguin of some sort and Louis was wondering how she passed four years of Art without having any creativity. Maybe she sucked Vogt's dick. 

Hey, his marriage WAS failing. 

Louis shook his head of his pessimistic thoughts, running his finger gently over the ridge of the nose, the texture soft to his touch. He enjoyed sculpting; it was perhaps his second favorite thing to do, besides drawing. It took away the stress of his life, his dumb life that consisted of caring for young children and schoolwork. 

He wasn't paying attention to his life as he used his special tools lent to him by Mr. Vogt to adjust the bridge of his sculpture's nose. There, that was much better. 

He took the special knife used to pierce and impress the clay with, delving it into the top of his sculpture. There needed to be more of a curve, more of a value and depth to it, but he was having trouble figuring out how to go about it. He sighed softly, knowing that ceramics wasn't his best. Drawing was. 

He didn't know what more he could possibly do other than tweak a few things after adjusting the top of his sculpture. From then on, he just made little impressions here and there, adjusting some clay, adding a little slip to it. He figured this was the best. 

The unfortunate thing about his art class was that it only lasted sixty minutes, and the bell seemed to ring even sooner. Louis sighed softly, resting his hands to his sides. He picked up his sketchbook, leaving the near finished sculpture of Harry resting on the table. 

"Louis, please stay for a moment." Mr. Vogt told the young man, whose head snapped up to gaze at his teacher. 

"What is it?" he asked, clutching his sketchbook tightly to his chest. He needed to get home, and he had to pick up the kids from school still. 

"I want to talk to you about your plans once you're graduated. You plan on going to college, correct?" the bearded man questioned. His fingers were always stained with acrylic paint, smoothing over his shirt. 

"Well, I don't know." Louis said uncomfortably, receiving a raised eyebrow from his teacher. He appreciated the curiosity, but it wasn't needed. Louis knew he most likely wouldn't be able to attend a college. 

"Listen, you are my most talented student that I've had in my sixteen years of teaching. I see a lot of potential in you. And apparently, multiple colleges do as well. Don't you want to be educated and have a comfortable life, Louis? You could be . . . an engineer." the man continued, genuine concern flashing in his eyes.

Louis shifted back and forth on his feet, shrugging his shoulders slightly. "I-I don't know." he stammered out. He didn't want the only person who was proud of him to be let down. He didn't want to taint the image that Mr. Vogt had of him. 

"I know you're young, but no matter what age you are, your future rests in your hands. Think about it, Louis, and if you ever need reference letters, don't be shy to ask me." Mr. Vogt told his student, who noticed how he smelled so strongly of coffee it was ridiculous.

"Thank you, Mr. Vogt. I've got to go pick up my sisters, but I'll think about it." Louis replied, and he truly meant it. He was going to think about it, because that was the only thing Jay couldn't control about him: his thoughts. 

It was such a pain to go all the way to his locker, but he had to do it. Vogt had strict orders on bringing your backpack to class. Louis shuffled over to locker 17, finally reaching it. Not many people were around as there probably were a couple  minutes earlier, since everyone was in a rush to get home. 

He sighed quietly, dialing in his combination lazily. He wanted to go home and possibly visit Beaufort after the kids were fed. 

Beaufort was such a peculiar man, and Louis didn't know how to handle him yet. He was no longer considered dangerous, but he did have an eccentric side to him. Louis wondered if he'd ever had a moment of normalcy since his lunatic behavior settled in. 

His locker swung open, a red flash immediately falling onto the floor. With furrowed eyebrows, Louis picked it up. He was confused, for his locker only contained his backpack and sometimes, a sack lunch. He bent over hesitantly, the halls becoming increasingly empty. It was still relatively busy, but he had enough space between himself and the person next to him to have some privacy. He typically tried to leave just as everyone else walked to their lockers, but Vogt screwed that for him. 

He gripped a red note in his hand, all capital letters written on it. 

"THEY ARE INSIDE YOU." 

Louis stared at it in confusion, his eyes widened slightly. What could that possibly mean? He had no logical idea in his head, completely frazzled at the words. Was it dropped at the wrong locker? Was it a prank? 

Questions were soaring through his brain, eyebrows furrowed, creating a crease between them. He read over the cluster of words repeatedly, taking his bottom lip between his teeth. And all of a sudden, a gaggle of girls were behind him, laughing obnoxiously. One even had to grip onto her friend's shoulder for balance, doubling over with laughter. He should have known; they were putting things in there to trick them. 

He glared at them, swinging his backpack over his shoulder and shoving the note in his front pocket. He slammed his locker shut, causing them to turn his way, clearly startled. "Don't fucking write me shit." he growled, clearly not in the mood, and stressed about his thoughts of college.

He pushed past one of the girls, not even realizing it was Eleanor as he stormed off. "Fucking bitch, bitch, bitch," he mumbled under his breath, hands balling into tight fists. Why would they try and scare him with that? Humiliate him? He didn't understand what he ever did. 

He walked out into the brisk wind, clambering into the old truck. It'd rattled more since his visits to the institution, and he hoped Jay wouldn't make him pay to get it fixed. She was always finding excuses to make him pay for her shit, though. 

One day, he was going to make Jay regret ever treating him or the kids like she did. Jay was going to regret it all. 

\-   
It smelled like dust. Louis didn't even realize dust had a scent until he stepped inside the dingy movie theater that he worked at. It was dusty. 

"I'll have a popcorn and two large sodas. A Pibb and a Pepsi." the woman in the tan blazer said. Louis raised an eyebrow and dialed the order into the old cash register. It spit out a receipt after she paid the overpriced fee. Louis handed it to her, eyeing the two young boys she had with her. 

"Ma, that boy is in Jenny's grade." he could hear one of the boys speak. He had his back turned now, scooping the popcorn into the large paper bag. He was a good eavesdropper, because not many people noticed him.  

"Is he really?" the woman sounded like she wasn't even listening, probably poking around on her cellphone. She didn't look that wealthy, which described why she'd ever take a couple kids to this kind of movie theater. But she was wealthier than Lou. 

"Yeah! He's the faggot she said had no clean clothes." The other chimed in, proving to be incredibly terrible at whispering. 

Louis winced at the word, his shoulders hunching down a fraction. How could this kid possibly know him? Was he truly known as the smelly gay dude of the high school? Why? He had never shared his sexuality with a soul. It was like a dark area of his heart that loomed faintly, nobody ever attempting to dig deep enough to find it. 

He turned after filling cups with carbonated soda. The woman's face was bright red, out of sheer embarrassment. The two boys were giggling behind her back, whispering to each other. 

"Enjoy your movie," he said quietly, watching her scuttle off with the expensive, cardboard popcorn. He sighed and wiped his face with the back of his hand. He glanced at his watch.   
His shift was finally over. 

-  
The institution wasn't busy. 

He should've expected that, especially since it was a Wednesday evening. He only worked for two hours after school, and it was seven at night. 

Louis wore his nametag from the theater, hands shoved deep in his front pockets. He was graduating soon, very soon, and he knew he couldn't work there forever. He passed by multiple patients who were playing cards, checkers, or chess. He nodded at them, pulling a tight smile. 

He couldn't spot any familiar faces though, including Beaufort's. Finally, his eyes wandered over to the back of the room, landing on Harry's face. He was already staring at Louis, hands placed together on top of the white table. His lips were pressed together in a flat line, hair a wild mess on top of his head. He had such fair skin, Louis noted. 

The seventeen year old strode over to Harry, fingers running through his fringe. "Hello." he said succinctly, eyes taking him in. 

"Sit down." Harry said in a quiet voice. It was like liquid mercury, odd and intriguing. Louis had odd comparisons. 

Wanting to please the ratty-haired patient, he took a seat across from him.  The male's gaze was intense as he looked at Louis. "Beaufort was bad today. Threw Silas at Rodney." he explained before Lou had time to ask. 

"Oh. I'll leave then. Thank you for-" 

"No. I'm not done with you." Harry said, furrowing his eyebrows in frustration. Louis could tell he had something on his mind. Niall wasn't here, but Louis wasn't surprised. He usually only came on the weekends. 

"What is it?" he questioned, his eyes wide and almost frightened. Almost. Harry simply had a tense disposition, and it constantly threw him off. 

"I exalt you." Harry stated, eyes darker than usual. 

"Exalt?"

"Exalt." 

"How? Why?" By now, Louis was confused and had no idea what the male was talking about. 

"Don't you get why I am in here, Louis? I am far too fastidious to live in the real world." he snapped, looking around him to make sure there was nobody eavesdropping. 

This was what made Louis's heart sink. Perhaps this was why Harry was in here. But not because he was fastidious. Because he was crazy. Harry might truly be like the rest of the patients, and that made Louis's mood plummet. He held the male up on a pedestal, always thinking highly of him for reasons unknown. His eyes were full of intelligence; Louis could just see it. 

"What are you talking about, Harry?" he murmured, his eyes softening at the way the male gazed at him. 

"I've found many ways to occupy myself in this living hell. I've picked up a rather unique talent. I tell myself from one to ten, how dangerous a person is." Harry changed the subject and leaned over, whispering the words to Louis as if it was actually true. 

The smaller of the pair furrowed his eyebrows. Louis was a no nonsense type of boy, and for Harry to actually think this would fool him was ridiculous. "Sure." he said sarcastically, shifting to get up. 

Harry reached for his wrist, gripping onto it until Louis winced. "Please, I haven't told anyone of this and my first fear is rejection. Don't confirm my fears." he said in a quick breath, causing Louis to look uncertainly at him. 

He finally nodded his head, allowing Harry to continue. If the guy was living in an asylum, Lou would sympathize for him and listen. 

"For example," Harry continued after approval, "a normal child is a one, and a man carrying a rifle is a seven. Most of the people here are fives, but the most I've seen is eight. They aren't really dangerous, only to themselves. I can only determine how dangerous they are towards me, of course. I'm really quite good at it. I judge people well." 

Louis nodded and licked over his bottom lip, ignoring the fact that Harry's eyes followed his tongue. "Why are you telling me this, Harry?" he whispered. 

"What is a man like me to do in an asylum? I waste my time inside these walls measuring a person's danger towards me. I've become really quite good at judging people." Harry ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at it gently. He glanced over at the blue eyed teen who sat across from him, sighing softly. He was about to speak, but he stopped himself. Louis raised an eyebrow, shrinking in his chair. 

"You can tell me why." he whispered, looking around him to make sure nobody was watching the scene play out. Nobody was. 

Harry tucked a piece of his long, wild hair behind his ear, eyes intense on Louis's features. 

"When you first walked into this institution, you were immediately marked in my brain as a ten. I am trying to figure out why." he murmured, clasping his hands together.   
"And when I do find out, you're going to regret being a ten." Harry smirked.


	6. CHAPPED.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A part of Louis's childhood is revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for continuing to read! Please continue with your awesome and motivational feedback.

Louis hadn't visited the asylum in two weeks. He'd just graduated recently, and since then has worked seven days a week. He hated it, and the children were always being cared for by Lottie. He'd taught her how to do laundry and other things that were needed to be learned. He tried to push away the thoughts of Harry in his head, fear always burrowing in his brain at the idea of the male. 

 

Lottie would not be able to care for the kids forever. She could not drive yet, and she could only give Louis a three month break. He didn't even want it sometimes. On most nights after he returned from the asylum, he found himself with his arms wrapped around Doris's little body. He had Ernest resting near him, merely staring at the children who didn't have a chance at life. "I'm so sorry," he would whisper to them, resting them in their cribs before laying in his own bed.

 

He'd sketch their faces into his notebook, think of his little sisters, and wonder why his mother did this to them. Why couldn't she have gotten her tubes tied like any other slut and been pounded into as much as she wanted? Louis hated her. He hated her more than anything for being so negligent and always depending on a man.

 

"Louis!" his mother yelled from the living room, a cigarette stuck between her teeth. He walked into the room, furrowing his brows together and shaking his head.

 

"What the hell did I tell you about smoking in front of the kids?" he snapped, reaching over and taking the cigarette from his mother. She gave a shriek of anger, leaning forward to strike him across the cheek. He set the cigarette in the ashtray, ignoring her swatting hands.

 

"Go get the mail." she coughed out, her hands balled into fists. She had a drama reality show on as usual, her feet curled up on their sunken in couch. They certainly did not live in luxury, but Louis gave it to her; she made the best of it. Usually, with the help of a man. Lately, she'd been running off to a man's house at night. He was sure it was another druggie or abuser.

 

He sauntered over to the mailbox on their front porch, lifting up the flap to see five envelopes. Most were bills that had to be paid or one of his mother's smutty magazines. He rolled his eyes, walking inside and slamming them on the kitchen counter. His sister Daisy was playing with her doll's hair, her eyes snapping up to him. "Lou?" she murmured gently, blue eyes looking into an identical pair.

 

"Yes, love?" he smiled at the little girl, eyeing the hand me down doll Lottie had given her.

 

"Are you mad?" she whispered, eyeing the nearby living room to make sure their mother wasn't listening.

 

With a soft smile, Louis shook his head. "No, love, not at you. I could never be mad at you." he teased his sister, leaning over to tickle under her chin.

 

She gave a feeble giggle, looking up at him with bright eyes as she hugged her doll close. His poor sister had gone through more trials than most adults, and Louis hated the fact he couldn't take all of the pain away.

 

"I'm going to go on a drive, okay?" he said quietly, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. "Listen to Lottie." he spoke, walking out of the kitchen and failing to notice the red letter underneath all the others on the counter.

 

He left the house, keys clutched in his fist as he saw his mother through the window, another cigarette between her fingers. Her other hand was holding a phone, dialing the number of her new male.

 

-

Beaufort was having a bad day, and Louis was too.

 

The father and son sat at a table, staring at each other's hands, but they may as well have been looking at their own.

 

"They drugged me." Beaufort mumbled quietly, his fingers twisting together and nails picking at one another. "They took away Silas, too."

 

Louis looked at the broken man. His voice wasn't delusional anymore. Instead, it was heavy with a depression over his best friend and hairbrush. He couldn't help but feel empathetic towards him, his eyes softened.

 

"Mom has me take care of the kids, but I don't know how much longer I can do it. I feel sick of it all, and I'm ready to move on with my life. But the kids..." he trailed off, closing his eyes.

 

He felt a squeeze to his hand, his eyes flying open. It was his father, shaking his head and smiling wryly at him. His golden teeth peeked out from between his thin lips. "D'you ever stop and listen to yourself, Louis?" he asked in his gruff voice, abused after years of smoking.

 

"Jay gave birth to them babies, not you. You don't owe the world nothing. You don't owe Jay or those babies nothing. You've paid your debts to her, you've thanked her enough for bringing you into this world. Now let her take care of her own kids and move on with your life, have your own." Beaufort said gently before leaning back, closing his eyes, and releasing a soft breath.

 

"You must not be used to having a family you love and care for. But I do. I love those kids, and I have to take care of them. It's my duty." Louis stated simply, his attention diverted to the man in front of him. He could feel a foreign anger rise up towards his father, his hands balling into small fists. He hated his small hands.

 

Beaufort furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head. "I always took care of my family." he defended, receiving a chuckle in response from the eighteen year old.

 

"You were a shit dad." Louis mumbled under his breath, his mind being sheathed with sudden thoughts.

 

_It was a Friday, and school was out. The small boy clutched his newest library book to his chest. It taught how to draw shapes, and he always drew things. He wanted to draw a flower and give it to Mommy. The school bus pulled into his neighborhood with minutes, and little Louis Tomlinson was darting down the road, searching for his family to share the news._

 

_Every once in a while, Mommy would be sitting on the front porch with a cup of coffee, reading the Reader's Digest and looking at recipes for dinner. She wasn't there today._

 

_He walked inside the home, a grin spread across his little face. "Mommy! Dad! I got a book today from the library. It's gonna show me how to draw!" he exclaimed._

 

_Rather than the squeals of excitement he'd been hoping for, he received a harsh scream from the kitchen. It was Mommy. "You fucking psycho, you're not touching my son. Don't you fucking dare, Beaufort!" she yelled._

 

_Suddenly, Daddy was storming into the living room, his eyebrows furrowed and he shook his head. He always did that when he was grumpy. His eyes trailed to his runt of a son. "You." he growled, his fists shaking._

 

_"Daddy, I got a book..." Louis trailed off, a whimper escaping him as his father slammed the book down onto the floor with loud thunk. He had gotten that to show his family. On the way home from school, he'd flipped through the pages and imagined his parents celebrating his new book with him. They'd squeeze his shoulders and kiss his forehead, just like Louis's friends' parents._

 

_"He fucking did it, I'm fucking telling you!" Daddy seethed through clenched teeth, his hand reaching for the boy's arm. He gripped it tightly, gazing down at Louis._

 

_Louis waited for Mommy to save him, like she always did. He had the best mommy in the world. She pushed herself between the boys, giving Daddy a hard shove. "Don't you dare." she breathed out irately, her face hot and ears red. She reminded Louis of a grizzly bear._

 

_He giggled a little at that._

 

_Beaufort balled his hands at his sides before reaching over for the vase Louis painted at daycare. It was proudly displayed on a stand. He slammed it down on the floor towards Lou, shattering it into little smithereens. Louis felt that it represented his heart, for the vase was his little masterpiece._

 

_"He exploited me, and he started the wars!" he practically screamed, spit flying out of his mouth and landing on the remains of his son's very best artwork. Louis didn't realize there were wars going on because of him, and he immediately began to cry._

 

_"Daddy, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to." He whimpered, leaning back against the door. His eyes trailed down to his art book, murmuring apologies under his breath as Daddy began to slap Mommy across the face._

 

Louis blinked and looked over, seeing Harry sitting at a table. "I've got to go." he mumbled, his face growing hot as he was a cycling train of thoughts.

 

"Bring me more of that movie popcorn like last week, yeah?" Beaufort grinned, showing off his rotten teeth.

 

Louis cringed, nodding his head. "Yeah, sure whatever." he said quickly, turning quickly towards the door to be found facing Harry. He gasped, looking at him.

 

"What are you doing?" he whispered, his eyes growing wide at the sight of the tall male.

 

"The real question is, what are you doing?" he smirked a bit, the ghost of a dimple being seen in the side of his cheek.

 

"Stop that." he whispered, shaking his head and closing his eyes. He felt a hand tilt his chin with a rough and large thumb. He glanced down at the male's wrist, seeing little scars etched across the paled skin. He wondered when he'd gone outside last.

 

His eyes were glazed with the cloudy haze of prescription drugs, a tongue darting across chapped lips. His lower lip was raw from being nibbled on, Louis noticed. There was one certain patch that had the slightest amount of blood seeping out still. He was going to draw his lips.

 

"You're staring at my mouth like in the movies." the lips formed words, forcing Louis to look back up into the drugged eyes.

 

"I like movies." Louis spoke flatly, feeling rather dumb when he didn't know what to say. Harry merely grinned cockily, his pelvis dipping forward to nudge against Louis's belly since he was significantly shorter.

 

"I do too. We'd make quite a movie. It's really too bad you've got to go once I get released from here." Harry winked, leaning down to press a kiss to the boy's forehead. Louis was flabbergasted, his fingertips brushing over his own skin in utter confusion.

 

What did he mean by that?

 

"I'll see you tomorrow, dumpling." Harry laughed, his hand giving the male's neck a good, rough squeeze before his lanky legs led him away from Louis.

 


	7. LIAR.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis begins to fear red more, and the mysteries continue on.

Harry was right; he did see Louis the next day.

 

Louis felt like an idiot; he truly did, but he was desperate to get away from his home. His mother found a drawing of a pair of lips, cracked and raw, on Louis's dresser. She wouldn't leave him alone after that, hollering between coughs that if he wanted to be an artist he could go live on the streets.

 

He didn't like to admit it, but Louis found himself terrified of his mother at times. Not that she'd hurt him, but that she'd kick him out and leave him on the streets to find an identity of his own.

 

The drives to the institution grew shorter each time he drove. The truck was becoming ricketier, and Louis knew he'd have to invest in a new family vehicle soon. He was filled to the brim with stress, trying to figure out how he'd ever make it out of his mother's home. Visiting Beaufort and Harry was his only escape, but even that was stressful with the random threats and googly-eyed hairbrush.

 

When he pulled into the driveway, he stepped inside, receiving a greeting from one of the heavier women at the front desk who began to recognize him each time. His fingers twiddled about in the air for a fleeting moment as a way of response.

 

He went inside the vast, boring room, glancing around at the blank walls and solid chairs. Men were playing cards or chess silently; some were playing alone and mumbling under their breaths. The lack of noise was almost eerie. It didn't take long to find a curly haired man in the corner, staring Louis down. It made him feel a stir of discomfort, wondering if he was plotting the boy's death.

 

He approached him, a soft song playing on the dumpy radio in the corner. It was the voice of a woman, a gentle melody that caused him to think of beautiful meadows and drawing Harry's lips. The sound of a harp crackled through the speakers, causing Louis to smile weakly. His eyes flickered back to Harry as he walked, taking the seat across from him.

 

"Where's Beaufort?" he whispered, interlocking his fingers together as he stared at the male who'd invaded his dreams and nightmares countless times.

 

Harry was fidgeting a lot, his fingers threading into his own hair. "He says that one of them is here." he mumbled absentmindedly, shrugging his shoulders. Louis could immediately sense that Harry wasn't comfortable with something. Perhaps it was him and his "danger."

 

"Are you all right?" he asked gently, a frown displaying across his face. Part of him felt like a fool for asking some malicious, bloodthirsty psycho like Harry, but Louis considered himself to be a very kind person. To handsome, odd, curly-haired men.

The male nodded his head and gave one of his curls a rough tug. "It's all bullshit." he mumbled, chewing on the cuticle of his nail. "It's been twelve fucking years, and do I get out of here in return? No, of course not." he snapped, the tops of his ears heating with pink.

 

Louis parted his lips, mouthing silent words out of confusion. "I- Harry," he murmured gently, deciding it'd be best if he merely listened to the male. Saying his name aloud caused his cheeks to rouge with vivid color; he'd only ever thought of it, really.

 

"They're dead, Louis. All of them." Harry called him by his name, causing the male to smile for a moment before realizing someone was dead.

 

Louis continued to give him a sympathetic look, biting his bottom lip and tapping his fingers against the tabletop.

 

"You don't remember? You must've been too young. Maybe five or six," Harry leaned back in his chair, thinking to himself of his own misfortunes.

 

"Harry, I'm sorry, but I don't know what you're talking about." Louis murmured gently, reaching for the male's hand. Harry wouldn't take his. His cheeks remained the rosy color, realizing that the man was probably very straight and very uninterested and very violent.

 

"The Styles family, the car accident." Harry spoke as if it was a memory everyone should know. But from the look of the boy, he was still incredibly confused. "We were on our way back from shopping for Christmas. See, my aunt Wanda always had these Christmas exchanges and we had to get presents for everyone."

 

"My grandma used to do that." Louis mumbled, thinking of when he was a little five year old boy, terrorizing all of his elderly family members at the Christmas gatherings. They all thought he was completely adorable, but he knew he was obnoxious.

 

"Well, we didn't fucking make it. Some drunk driver slammed into our car," Harry spat, glancing down at his hands with an angry expression withering his lovely visage. "I don't know what happened after that. I was in critical condition, but I got my shit together. Gemma was dead. Mom was dead. Dad was dead. I was fucking six."

 

The suddenness of Harry's confessions caused Louis's eyes to widen infinitesimally, his jaw going slack. "Oh," he whispered, forcing the male to take his hand. He found himself in a fairly uncomfortable situation, unsure of what to do. Harry was practically a stranger in his eyes. Louis had never been good with words; he lacked at that. All he could do was show his physical support and sympathy.

 

Harry glanced down at the dainty and delicate hand that had taken his so eagerly, his eyebrows furrowing into one of a maniac. He glanced over at Louis, his head tilting to the side in sheer curiosity. "Don't think you can go telling everybody." he blurted, an ounce of venom laced in his tone.

 

"I wouldn't." was all he replied, sitting in the window of silence before them. He didn't want to fight him; he just wanted to be a friend. Maybe.

 

The jade eyes followed Louis's features, taking him in and giving a soft hum. "It was a moment of weakness." His voice was still firm and powerful, hand tightening its grip on Louis's.

 

"Okay, Harry."

 

"Now I know why you're a ten." He whispered in reply, snatching his own hand away from Louis's and standing from his chair. "You force it out of me."

 

He had a bit of surprise course through him when the man suddenly stood, but he decided that he would not fight it. Instead, Louis gave a vague shrug. His confidence around Harry was growing, he'd noticed. He couldn't imagine the man actually killing him; it simply didn't appear to be possible. Harry knew firsthand that death affected people in the worst ways, so why would he try to cause one?

 

"'Arry!"

 

His head swiveled around at the sound of Niall. It could only ever be him; nobody ever sounded so cheerful visiting a loony house.

 

His arms opened wide at the sight of Louis, taking him in for a big, enthusiastic, gripping hug. He did not return it; instead, he swatted the blond away with furrowed brows. "What the hell d'you think you're doing?"

 

"I don't know.Â  Maybe I like driving you nuts." He gave a pleasant chortle, his eyes drifting over to Harry. They exchanged a look, and Niall suddenly began snickering.

 

"It's not funny." Louis huffed, crossing his arms over his chest and shaking his head. "I should probably leave, though. I have to give Lottie a break with the kids."

 

"Oh, give your sisters my best regards." Niall spoke kindly, shoving his hands in his pockets.

 

Harry didn't say much, but merely stirred from his stance. He had his lower lip captured between teeth, the epitome of concentrated. His brows were pressed together, and his arms were crossed as well. Louis was unsure if the anger, concentration, or disquietude was because of him, but he felt as though he wasn't welcome any longer.

 

"Thanks. See you around." he spoke to Niall before glancing at Harry. "Bye, Harry."

 

-

 

"About time you get home," Lottie spoke in a hushed voice, breaking the young man from his thoughts.

 

"Oh, sorry." he mumbled, glancing at the sleeping infant she was holding. It was Doris, a thumb pressed in her mouth as soft breaths escaped her.

 

"They wouldn't stop screaming. She almost killed me, she did." Of course his sister referred to their hotheaded mother.

 

"I'm here now. Go set her down, she's already out cold." he instructed the girl, walking past to reach his and Ernest's bedroom. The boy was napping also, curled up in the crib.

 

Walking past quietly, Louis went to his nightstand to search for the drawing he was working on. It was still the pair of lips; they just needed some extra shading around the cracked areas. He had been anticipating his quiet, drawing time all day, and he was rather excited.

 

The drawing was rested in the bottom drawer, nestled beneath a couple of other unfinished ones. He had commitment issues when it came to his pieces of work. His head tilted up, wandering eyes searching for his favorite ebony pencil.

 

He finally spotted it, resting next to an unfamiliar, black bottle. Confused and curious, Louis picked up the tiny, glass item. His eyes scanned over it, wondering what it could possibly be. His head tilted forward, inhaling the scent it gave off.

 

It had to be cologne, but Louis didn't exactly own cologne. There was only one explanation to this; one of his mother's hook-ups had been in his room. He could've snooped, stolen, and violated Louis's privacy.

 

Anger boiled through him, surging through the prominent veins in his muscled biceps and fisted hands. Gripping onto the bottle tightly, he sprayed it on his wrist. Crimson droplets covered him, and his eyes narrowed at the sight. "What the hell?" he mumbled in a low voice, shaking his head. Red seemed to follow him everywhere.

 

He rested it back on the nightstand, wishing to kill his mother if he had the chance for violating his privacy. They could've had sex in his bed for all he knew. The thought of it nauseated him. He rested the bottle on the nightstand and surged towards his mother's bedroom.

 

It was empty, and the sheets were rustled with. She never allowed the children to go in there, but he couldn't care less after discovering the dark cologne. He charged to the living room, spotting her on the couch smoking a cigarette.

 

"You think you can just slut around anywhere?" he growled, his right eye twitching with the fury he felt.

 

Her eyes grew wide, and then angry at his words. She was so surprised, she even rested her cigarette in the ashtray. "Excuse me?" she snapped, lifting her embouchure.

 

"Your little boyfriend left his cologne in my room after you two fucked in there." Louis could practically feel big, mighty billows of steam emanate from him. He could also see it on his mother the more he spoke.

 

Her eyes were struck with fear, realization, and dread. The softness of her eyes contrasted the venom in her voice. "So you turned out like your father."

 

Confusion was all that rang through him at her words, shaking his head quickly and balling his hands into fists. She was messing with his head in retaliation for yelling at her. "Louis, I didn't have a lover. You're just batty," she laughed, reaching back for the cigarette.

 

How dare she antagonize him like this? He approached his mother with angry fists, eyebrows tugged together as he took in her words. Bitterness was etched all over his face. "I am not like my father. You probably don't even know who he is, you've fucked so many dirtbags." he raised his voice with each word, shaking in his clothes.

 

And suddenly, he felt a strike to his cheek. It was her hand, flinging out harshly and slamming against his delicate features. "I will not be spoken to like this in my own household by a crazy man!" she suddenly shouted, the blue of her eyes dark and somber. Cigarette ashes were flinging across the room when she wrung her hands angrily.

 

"Go to your room. NOW!" her scream was one that he wouldn't forget. It was colder, emptier than any she'd ever delivered to him.

 

Louis turned on his heel and stalked angrily to his room, tears burning into the backs of his eyes. He imagined a life where she wouldn't mess with his head, but that didn't exist. He was anything but crazy. The cologne was clearly in his room, and she should've seen it! She knew exactly what he was speaking of; she was just embarrassed.

 

When he finally shut his door and sat comfortably on his bed, Louis's hands fidgeted immensely in his lap. His lower lip was nibbled on excessively, just as he had watched Harry do, until blood was seeping from the torn skin. His mother would feel his wrath; she would regret ever accusing him of being insane. He was going to do damage.

 


	8. BUTTERFLY GARDEN.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CRAZY SHIT HAPPENS

Louis had been in his room for most of his time at home. When it was time to go to work, he would saunter straight to the door without a word said to anybody. The children all noticed a difference, especially Lottie.

 

Lottie had been taking care of her younger siblings ever since her brother had gotten the job at the theater, and she could honestly say she underestimated her older sibling. He had his hands completely full with high school, the kids, and their mother. Now, it was her job to feed and rock and dote on the babies. The younger kids did not respect her as much as they did Louis, so it was difficult to take on the motherly role.

 

Phoebe and Daisy would always follow her around and cling onto her when she tried doing dishes, and Fizzy wasn't much help at all. She decided she'd start assigning chores to them to help get the stress off her.

 

Louis was always gone now, either working or at the asylum. She had no clue how her mother was okay with his absence; Louis had been telling her it was all work. A few days ago, when she heard screaming in the living room, she knew things had changed drastically around the house. She just had no idea how she'd save herself or her siblings without Louis's help.

 

Most of all, Lottie just missed her brother.

 

-

 

Louis had invested his money in clothes. He stopped by the secondhand store in town after work, knowing that there were plenty of sales for him to take up on. He could get fancy clothes for little from there, and he decided to splurge.

 

He felt guilt settle in at the fact his siblings didn't have much either, specifically Ernest. All the girls shared clothes, but Ernest sometimes had to wear Doris's onesies.

 

After picking out four shirts on the clearance rack for himself, he grabbed a navy clothing set for his brother. Along with this, he picked out a couple cheap, fashionable shirts for the girls. He bought two for Lottie, since she was the oldest and had no hand-me-downs.

 

He felt as though he was caring for his family, and he couldn't be more proud of himself. They never thought of him as crazy. They thought of him as their brother: loveable, humorous, and protective.

-

The asylum was not very busy, most likely because it was a weekday and most people worked. Louis had changed into one of his new shirts, one that said, "LOVE WILL TEAR US APART."

 

He figured it was poetic, and he liked the way it fit snugly against his torso. Having new clothes was something he wasn't used to, and he admit silently to himself that it was exciting. It drew his attention away from all of the stress his life was beginning to carry.

 

After greeting one of the workers, he shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and glanced around. It only took a few seconds to see Beaufort, but his back was facing him. The man's head was bowed, and Louis assumed he was having alone time with Silas.

 

"Louis."

 

His head whipped to the right, seeing Harry in all of his glamour. It looked like his hair had gotten a trim, for the curls weren't dangling so wildly around him. His skin was clear and free from any blemishes, which made Louis jealous. His eyes burned with such intensity that it made Louis feel vulnerable.

 

"You got a new shirt," he observed from where he was standing. His eyes wandered down from the fringe of Louis's hair to the rolled up jeans he had on. It was the middle of summer, but Louis still hated wearing shorts that exposed his skin. "Come with me."

 

His eyebrows furrowed as Harry jerked his head, urging the other to follow his steps. He went towards two double doors on the right side of the large room, and Louis hesitantly followed. He just hoped it was allowed to go through them, and he wished Beaufort wouldn't see him.

 

The guards standing near it gave Harry a nod before opening the doors for him, revealing the pathetic little path to the pitiful butterfly garden outside the asylum.

 

"They just opened it for the summer, and now we can go outside. Nobody really does, but I like to. It's peaceful." The man was oddly sheepish for his usual arrogant demeanor, and it threw Louis off his game.

 

"Well, I can see why they don't." he cracked a smile at the sight of the scraggly bushes and withered flowers, all organized in a circular garden. It had a rather small path, and a fountain that barely any water flowed from.

 

The corner of Harry's lips formed a frown, almost as if he was offended. Louis was quick to say, "We should water the plants from now on. Tend to the garden and see our progress."

 

Harry was back to smiling, giving a slow nod at the tempting idea. "We?" he mumbled slowly, leading them past the guards to the gated area of the butterfly garden. A few guards surrounded it, but they were a distance away, out of earshot.

 

"Well, yeah." was all he mumbled, fiddling with his fingers and feeling a short spout of embarrassment. What if Harry wasn't interested? He probably fantasized about young women and boobs and all the things Louis didn't own.

 

If Harry noticed that Louis was thinking of this, he didn't say a word about it. Instead, he began to take slow, measured steps on the path. They were surrounded by drab, overgrown bushes and the pathetic flowers. The color of the garden was sucked out, leaving dull shades of green and brown.

 

"What does your house look like?" Harry suddenly questioned, his head tilting to show his attention was on Louis.

 

The boy was caught off guard at the question, and he had to think for a while before delving into explanation. "Well, it's rather small. I have a lot of siblings. The girls have their bedroom, I share one with my brother, and my mother has her own. It smells like smoke, really fucking bad. The rooms always have the stench of it. It's messy, too, but I try to clean when I can."

 

The other's eyes were focused on a hummingbird that was attempting to find a fresh flower to suckle from, but it had no luck. He turned himself towards Louis. "Do you ever wish to leave?"

 

"Well, there are times when I fantasize about it, but then I think of the children. Those kids mean everything to me." he shrugged his shoulders and rubbed the back of his neck, listening to the little dribbles of the fountain.

 

Harry merely nodded, and then they were swallowed by the surrounding sounds of nature. It drew them in, and they began to stride in eased circles around the garden. They passed the same bushes, each time a little different. They'd sneak glances at each other, staring at their shoes. The silence was only a little awkward, but nature drew them to peace.

 

"How do you make decisions?" The thoughtful man inquired, his elbow brushing against Louis's bicep as their steps aligned together. "Arbitrarily or carefully?"

 

Louis thought back onto his decision to scream at his mother, to visit his father, to go to the garden with Harry. They were all choices made on whim, and he knew that he was a very arbitrary person. "I suppose arbitrary."

 

"All the time?"

 

Louis thought to himself, pondering the question in his head before nodding his head. "Yeah," he murmured and slowed down the path that he trod with him.

 

"So you're automatic. I like to think I'm semi-manual. I carefully decide things that are for the best most of the time. Only a couple times am I based off whim." he carried on, shrugging his shoulders.

 

"What sort of things do you do that are arbitrary? Automatic, I mean." Louis peered up at him with curious eyes, wondering what he meant by all of this lingo.

 

"Perhaps things like this."

 

Louis's heart nearly jumped out of his chest when a hand reached for his. It was Harry's, and he was lacing their fingers together. It was as if in slow motion that this occurred, for Harry's fingers took their time to trail over to slot themselves between Lou's.

 

And then it was just them in the butterfly garden, holding hands.

 

Harry's were so much larger than Louis's, and his hand practically swallowed his. It was lovely, and Louis was captivated by it. He never realized how much Harry towered over him until their hands were latched.

 

Louis had no words to say to Harry; he just clutched onto his hand after a beat of hesitance. "You . . ." he trailed off, wondering how he should ask Harry if he liked boys.

 

"Yes." was all Harry replied, his voice hoarse and raspy. Louis could feel his pulse, rapid and erratic against his wrist, and he knew Harry was just as nervous. It calmed him to know that he wasn't the only one. It was the two of them.

 

"Me too," he nodded his head and began to swing their hands back and forth, in the same rhythm that they walked.

 

-

 

The theater was boring as ever. Louis had cleaning duty, and it was by far his least favorite. People enjoyed trashing the rooms with popcorn, soda, and the occasional condom. It was ridiculous, and he did it without assistance.

 

His hands were still buzzing from the way one of them was held. The entire thing was incredibly unexpected, shocking-

 

"Automatic," he mumbled quietly as he swept up a few kernels of popcorn. The beginning of a smile trickled across his lips, thinking of all that occurred.

 

His head turned to sweep up a few more kernels, and for some reason, there were shards of what appeared to be paper. Louis halted what he was doing, crouching down to pick up the litter. He came to the realization that it was stained with red, and the red began to drip down his fingers.

 

He gasped at the bloody substance, spreading it across the pads of his fingers in wonder and fear. What could it possibly be? Who had this at the movies?

 

Louis thought back to the red letter at school, the red cologne in his room, and now the red stain in the theater. He came to a frightening, insane conclusion.

 

Somebody was out to get him.

 

He picked up his broom and did his best to ignore the horrifying stain on his fingers. The scraps of paper were swept up and thrown into the garbage. He moved on to the next row of seats, and what he found next was equally scary.

 

The red substance was not on paper, but rather placed on the ground to spell out words. "THEY ARE IN YOU."

 

Louis physically shuddered at the sight, wondering what was possibly in him. He suddenly had the urge to find out, and it became nauseating seeing all of the red in his vision. Red was an angry, bitter, threatening color. It was a warning.

 

He needed to tell someone. He couldn't just stand around and let someone ruin his sanity. Someone was out there, and he was determined to find them.

 

Suddenly, Mr. Santon, his boss, walked in. He was an obese man that constantly wore tees that depicted a movie. This time, it was a Titanic tee. His beard was short and splotchy, and he was always in a neutral mood.

 

Louis realized he was crouching on the ground, and he immediately stood up.

 

Mr. Santon furrowed his brows at the worker, shaking his head at the sight. The teen's hands were covered in ketchup, and the broom had been left aside. He glanced down at the floor, but he didn't spot the writing on it. "Tomlinson, clean up this ketchup mess and get out of here. You're taking ages."

 

He left as soon as he came, and Louis looked down at his hands. This couldn't be ketchup. He was certain someone was out there, ready to do bodily harm to him. They were playing mind games with him, and Louis was not interested in it.

 

"I'm not going to play your game." he growled under his breath, wiping his hands off with a paper towel before continuing to clean the floors.

 

-

 

_Louis, tiny and rambunctious, oftentimes liked to play games. Every child did. He and his mother would pretend to be lions, and they would use the couch as their den. He'd crawl across the carpet, pretending it was the long, wavy grassland. He'd attack prey with a mighty roar, and Mother Lion would stroke his mane when he presented it to her._

 

_Sometimes, it would put him to sleep, and he'd wake up in his lion bed with the bunny he'd preyed upon._

 

_After his nap, Louis would always stalk to the kitchen on his hands and knees. "Mother Lion!" he would call for her, and she'd always open her arms from her seat at the kitchen table for an after-nap hug._

 

_Today, Louis woke from his nap. He crawled to the kitchen, ready to carry out the daily ritual. His hands gripped onto the carpet down the hall, pushing past the imaginary grassland._

 

_When he reached the large kitchen, his mother wasn't to be found. His eyes searched and his hands released from the carpet. Louis stood from his lion position, seeking his mother for the hug._

 

_A grin spread across his lips when he found her standing in the doorway that connected the living room and kitchen. His feet padded quickly over to her, arms slinging around her eagerly. She didn't look down at him. Her eyes were on something else._

 

_Before he could speak, he allowed his eyes to wander over to where she was looking. It was his dad, pacing back and forth in the living room. His finger was placed to his ear, as if he was talking to someone through an earpiece._

 

_"Who's he talking to?" Louis asked in a whisper, watching his father mumble incessantly and pace quicker. His steps were short and panicked, and his lips were moving at a quick speed, murmuring into the ear piece._

 

_"Himself. Daddy's losing his mind, dear." was all his mother responded, her eyes somber and empty._

 

_His eyes remained fixed on his pacing father, who didn't even realize his entire family was staring him down. He rested his head against his mother's hip, feeling her hand rest on his shoulder limply._

 

_"Don't worry, Mommy. He's just playing a game like us."_


	9. FIRST.

 

Ernest was not crying, and it made Louis wonder more as to why he woke up in the middle of the night. He searched for the alarm clock, and squinted his eyes as the red numbers indicated it was half past three.

 

"Fuck," he mumbled, sitting up in his bed as quietly as possible. Ernest was a deep sleeper, but only to an extent.

 

Louis knew it was a nightmare whenever the little one woke, and he was in too cranky of a mood to deal with that. In plus, the insulation was so thin that the girls might wake too.

 

After taking a sip from a water bottle, he turned on the dim lamp on his nightstand. He knew he wasn't going to sleep for a while, so he decided to make the best of it. The middle of the night, after all, was the least stressful time for Louis.

 

Nobody was expecting anything from him. Nobody was nagging him to change a diaper, go to work, or glue back Silas's eye. It was peaceful. He was at peace, and he had the whole silent world to himself.

 

He decided to finish shading the rest of Harry's face, and then he'd go to sleep when he was done. His heavy eyes made it difficult to focus on the cracked lips, wide eyes, and delicate nose that he was creating on paper. However, his hand remained constant on the ebony pencil, and he remained devoted to finishing Harry.

 

It distracted him from all of the stress he had, the nightmares, and the crimson color that flooded his dreams. It was all he could think of these days. It swallowed his mind whole, and he was drowning in different shades and textures of blood these days. He'd never tell anybody, but Louis was growing scared of whoever was threatening him.

 

It was nearly four thirty by the time he decided Harry was completed. Opening the bottom drawer, Louis rested the thick sheet of paper in it before closing it. He bid himself to bed, shutting off the light and closing his eyes.

 

-

 

"Son, it's been forever. I'm writing a novel exposing the postal system's flaws."

 

Those were the first words that Beaufort announced to him when he entered the visiting room. He had grown accustomed to such odd greetings, and he realized his father couldn't help it. He couldn't hate a man who wasn't even sane.

 

"I have to talk to you, Beaufort." Louis spoke quietly, shame flushing his cheeks as he sat in front of him.

 

"Anything, boy. If it's about the book, I can tell you all about it. I'm about two pages into it, and it's going great. Wallace said he'd give it a read." Beaufort spoke animatedly, his hands wringing in front of his body. Silas was rested on the table next to him, watching over Louis and Beaufort.

 

"No, it's not." he picked at his cuticles, feeling Harry's eyes on him from across the room. He hoped he wasn't mad that he decided to visit his father. He shouldn't; Niall was with him. They were speaking in low voices again.

 

"It's me. Mother thinks I've gone batty." Louis admitted in a quiet voice.

 

Beaufort suddenly turned serious, and the faint daze in his eyes had disappeared. The wrinkles on his face suddenly appeared more defined, and Louis figured this was the sanest his father had ever appeared in years. "Are they after you, too? The men?" he whispered.

 

Louis stared down at his hands. If you'd ask him a couple months ago, he'd be outraged and insulted at the question. He never thought of himself as crazy. He still didn't think he was crazy. This was truly happening right before his eyes.

 

Reluctantly, Louis gave a stiff nod of his head. "Who are they? They're sending me these letters, saying they're inside me. Beaufort, I'm terrified. I don't know what to do with myself. I think I'm going insane." he whispered.

 

The embarrassment he felt was practically nauseating him, but he couldn't take it. He needed answers. What if his father wasn't crazy this entire time? What if they put him in here?

 

Beaufort looked truly concerned, and it frightened Louis immensely. "They used to write on the shower walls in blood, hide things from me, stalk me, swim inside me like a virus. They're invincible. I begged them not to take my son, but they don't regard this shit. Stupid shits."

 

Louis clung onto every word, and it sounded insane to him, but he was going through something eerily similar. It had to be true. With a heavy exhale, he pressed his face into the palms of his hands. Beaufort watched with curious eyes, hands clasped in front of his lap.

 

"Mind if I interrupt?"

 

Harry rested his hands on Louis's shoulders, causing the boy's head to fly up. He felt that it was Harry, for the hands were large and the pads of his fingers were calloused. Also, Harry's voice sounded like a grizzly bear.

 

It was as though Louis had transported to an opera house and had heard the final, forte note ringing out. Chills came like a wave across his body, covering his arms and legs. He adjusted his glasses, his own head lifting up to stare at Harry.

 

"You want to water the garden?" the man gave him a grin for the first time ever, and it was then that Louis noticed two very prominent dimples in his cheeks. It distracted him momentarily from the mess that his life was in.

 

"Go on then." Beaufort hollered, reaching over and taking Silas. He held the brush to his chest, whispering against the top of it, presumably about the pair leaving. It was rather humorous, and Louis couldn't help but snicker.

 

"We'll be back," he told, scraping the chair back and standing up. He turned to Harry, furrowing his eyebrows.

 

"Why don't we ever sit at the couches?" he questioned, beginning to take slow, eased steps towards the double doors leading to the garden.

 

"Isn't it obvious? It's a mental ward here, Louis. People do all sorts of wild shit on those couches, and I don't plan on receiving their grime." Harry sneered, causing the other to wonder if he was privileged in a past life.

 

"Perhaps they don't want yours either," he fired back, furrowing his brows and crossing his arms over his chest.

 

Harry gave a dry chuckle and nudged open the doors to the pathetic garden. Being likable and amiable had its perks; Harry had convinced the guards to get him a bucket of water and two plastic cups to liven up the plants in the garden.

 

Everything in the garden was incredibly drab, and there wasn't one single butterfly to be found despite its title. Harry pointed towards the bucket that rested on a stone bench, along with the two cups.

 

"You fill up your cup and drizzle it over the plants' roots. Easy enough, right?" Harry nodded his head, glancing over at Louis.

 

He felt comfortable for once in Harry's presence, as though his threat of harming Louis never happened. He wondered why it did, and he was rather curious the more he thought. Perhaps this was his elaborate plan. He'd get Louis to develop an infatuation for him, and then he'd choke him to death.

 

That couldn't be right, though. Harry had such a sweet heart beneath all of the toughness he displayed. Louis nudged his glasses up his nose, reaching for one of the cups. Harry was hot on his heels, getting his own to pour water with.

 

"I've never gardened before." Louis admitted, his attention transfixed on a pitiful shrub. With half a glass of water in his hand, he allowed it to trickle across the dry dirt surrounding the plant. He then drizzled the rest across the leaves.

 

"I used to, but I hardly remember. I picked weeds." Harry replied in a somber voice.

 

"When did you come here?" Louis questioned, his head tilting to throw Harry a glance. He didn't understand why they would put an orphan here.

 

It was a bit too silent as they watered the plants, taking turns to fill up their cups and drizzle it on the dirt. Harry had a depressed gleam in his eyes at the sudden mention, and Louis felt guilt pool in his stomach at the realization he had caused this sense of disquietude.

 

"I'm sorry, you don't have to tell me," he blurted out immediately, toying with the rim of his glasses anxiously.

 

"I was fourteen. I set fire to my foster family's house. They concluded that I tried killing them, and I was labeled crazy since then." he explained briefly, giving a slight shrug of his shoulders.

 

His eyes were focused on a cluster of withering flowers, dumping a quarter of the water on them. He brushed his fingers across the purple petals curiously, pushing aside the traumatic memories that collected dust in the back of his mind.

 

Louis was unsure of what to say; he always had this issue at the institution. The people were so complex and threw constant curveballs. It took a lot to understand them, let alone respond.

 

"Did you try?" he whispered, swallowing down the nervousness he felt at inquiring Harry about his vague past.

 

"Maybe they tempted me to. I wasn't much into them." the curly haired man spoke vaguely, attempting to share with Louis why, but the words couldn't form. His mouth was slack, attempting to shape the story he wanted to tell. The truth. Louis deserved the truth, but he just couldn't give it. 

 

Louis seemed to understand him, and he gave a brief nod of his head. He understood that pressure wasn't the best feeling, so he dropped it for later discussion.

 

The sun was beginning to swelter, and the summer heat had him sweating through one of his new shirts. There was barely any breeze, and he couldn't imagine how Harry felt in the clothes he had to wear. "We waited a bit too long for these plants to have a chance." he chuckled pessimistically.

 

Harry threw him a glance, his brows tugging together with sudden frustration. "We can't give up on them just because the timing is wrong." he replied ambiguously.

 

Louis halted what he was doing, crouching and tossing the plastic cup into the bucket. There wasn't much water left, and he was unsure if they should refill it or wait until he came back. His mind was a little more focused on the words Harry spoke, wondering if they meant more than he insinuated.

 

He wiped the sweat off his brow, standing straight from his bent position. He shifted his body to glance over at Harry, gasping when the taller was mere inches away. They were mostly concealed by the fences with wimpy vines covering it and dying bushes.

 

Harry's eyes were transfixed downwards, and a thought caused his heart to thud. Was he staring at Louis's backside as he bent over?

 

"You must always persevere for the things you want. I have learned that here." Harry continued on. "I've been here for almost four years. I am still persevering to get out."

 

Harry had the ability to make Louis completely speechless, and all he could do was stare into the endless jade. The dying garden surrounding Harry caused his eyes to look twice as vivid, and Louis was unable to voice his thoughts.

 

His hands ghosted out to grasp onto the others, and then it was just them.

 

He never knew that holding hands was such an intimate experience, but he realized it was when he felt Harry's pulse through his paper-white skin. He could trace over the veins that urged the blood within the man he'd grown to care for.

 

Louis never liked to be touched. It always reminded him of the harsh touches he received as a young child. Now, he was at peace. His heart was beating uncontrollably, and his brain was growing fuzzier by the second. It was as if a tidal wave of lava washed over his face, burning every cell until the flesh was flaming red.

 

And then Harry was dipping his head down, clutching onto Louis's hands in a vice grip. The boy was trembling in his grasp, worried and frightened and exhilarated.

 

He kept his eyes half open to take in the sight of Harry chasing after his lips, connecting them in a tender, thrilling, intimate kiss.

 

Birds chirped, guards spoke afar, and cars zoomed by, but none were heard by Louis and Harry. Their hands were tightly grasping onto one another's, and Louis's shoulders were tense as he tried to make it as lovely as possible.

 

His inexperienced lips were gentle and shifted only every couple seconds, not wanting to break the peace they had created.

 

Harry's lips were overwhelming and full; it was as though he was brushing his lips over the fresh tomatoes when he was a child, testing the firmness. Although they were constantly bitten raw, his lips were like silk.

 

It was Harry that finally pulled away after an intense few beats of silence. Louis's entire body was on fire; his mouth was filled with a warmth he hadn't felt in a very long time, if ever.

 

He had his first kiss, and it was to the boy he'd drawn.

 

It was rather embarrassing when he realized his glasses were smudged and foggy from the sloppy tilts of their heads and the heavy, excited breaths they took.

 

Harry quirked a smile and gave his hands a few squeezes, slipping away from Louis's tightened grip. "My father used to call my mother breathtaking after they kissed, but baby, you are breathgiving." he panted out through his cracked lips.

 

_Baby, he called me that. I'm a baby. I am baby, I am Harry's baby. I give him breath. Holy shit._

 

His thoughts were completely scattered, and his mouth was completely agape as the words were spoken to him. "Harry," he uttered out, beginning to quiver with adrenaline. He looked around, excited and beyond happy to be where he was. "I drew you, Harry. I drew a picture of you." he remembered, his entire being filled with a jittery sensation.

 

"Show me tomorrow when you come, while we tend to the garden. You'll come, right?" Harry asked, half desperate to see Louis the next day. He missed him already, and he was standing in his presence.

 

"Yes, I can do that. I must go, though. I should. Wow. Thank you," he burst into a wide grin, completely oblivious to any issues he once had. Harry kissed him.

 

"Okay, Lou." was all the other replied, shoving his slick hands into the fronts of his pockets. He imagined them gardening the next day, and his heart nearly burst with joy.

 

"I'll see you tomorrow then." Louis planned, rocking back and forth on his heels, wiping at his glasses a bit.

 

"Alright, Lou." he practically laughed with glee.

 

As Louis pranced away, Harry didn't think his dimples had ever shown so much.

 


	10. LAUNDRY.

_"Those fucking bastards."_

 

_It wasn't unusual to hear profanities slip from his father's mouth, especially since he had to empty out his office. He was home far more often, and it wasn't exactly something that pleased Louis._

 

_Lottie waved her hand in front of her brother's face, giving him a bewildered look. She was only two, and she never knew what was going on._

 

_Louis shook his head slowly, chewing on his lower lip nervously. His fingers wrapped around the toddler's wrist, nudging her hand down. His feet swung back and forth, leaning back in his car-seat._

 

_Through the rearview mirror, Louis could see the panicked, furious, crazed gleam in Dad's eyes. Beyond them, a red truck was spotted. It was driving behind them, and at eight years old, he was smart enough to know bad things were about to happen._

 

_He peered through the smudged window, watching as the city flashed past more quickly with each passing second. They were zooming, swerving, and causing others to slam on their brakes._

 

_"Who, Dad?" Louis hesitantly asked, fear lighting in his eyes. Speaking to his father ignited a fear in him ever since he began to lash out his anger on him._

 

_His mood tended to swing like a pendulum, and one could never know how he'd treat you._

 

_"The damn gang stalkers. They never stop," his voice raised gradually with every word, and Louis noticed the way his knuckles would turn white._

 

_Louis had heard a mouthful about them, and he was growing exhausted of him always mentioning the men that followed him in red cars._

 

_"Y-You're speeding," his eyes trailed over to Lottie, eyeing her bright blue eyes. He didn't want their shine to fade due to a car crash. Those were dangerous. Booster and baby seats didn't protect you completely._

 

_They were suddenly on the highway, and his speed increased even further. The red truck was long gone, but Dad wasn't convinced that they were gone completely._

 

_Sirens went off, and then red and blue were both flashing through the mirror._

 

_"Fucking shit!'" he hollered, slamming his fist against the steering wheel. He continued to drive, and he continued to speed._

 

_They whirred past the other cars, and Louis's hands were beginning to quiver with fear. He had no way of contacting Mommy, and she was all he wanted._

 

_She didn't know Dad had taken them on a trip to buy air fresheners, and she probably would've been upset had she known._

 

_"Dad, please," he pleaded for the sake of he and his sister, balling his hands into fists by his sides. Another policeman began to chase after the three, and it was causing Louis to feel as though he might throw up._

 

_His words were lost in thin air, and Dad continued to fly down the road with hatred burning in his eyes._

 

_Rain from the morning had slickened the roads, and Dad was going too fast to control the vehicle. It slid across the highway, spinning him and the children in the backseat. Louis ripped out a scream, his vision going blurry for a few seconds._

 

_They were in the middle of the road, surrounded by halting police cars. Men in blue rushed out, guns propped in front of them, aiming towards the car._

 

_Tears began to stream down the eight year old's face, and his father was oblivious of it. Instead, he clawed at his arms with a sneer, mumbling about them sneaking in._

 

_"Hands up! Put your hands up!"_

 

_Everybody was angry and yelling. Beaufort succumbed to their demands, lifting his hands with a weary expression._

 

_The men approached the car quickly, guns lowering slowly as they came to a sudden realization._

 

_"There are kids in the car! Guns down, there_ _are_ _children!" one yelled, and Louis wanted to draw his eyebrows. They looked like one big caterpillar._

 

_His car was open, and the officer attempted to usher him out. His father struggled against another, giving in after a few fighting moments._

 

_"Dad," Louis whimpered, swatting away the hands of the terrifying officer._

 

_"Not leaving without my sister." he snapped, crossing his arms over his chest. The officer gave him a sympathetic look, realizing that he was only protecting his sibling._

 

_His heart was beating erratically, and the nausea was creeping up his throat. The car was suddenly hot, and the velvety fabric of the seats made his hands feel dry. Leaning over, Louis emptied out the contents of his stomach, missing the cop's shoes by a few inches._

 

_"I'm sorry," he spluttered out, more embarrassed than anything as he shook. Tears stung his eyes, and he could barely make out his father. He was being dragged away, and it only made him panic more._

 

_"It's okay, son. He's not getting anywhere near you again. You don't have to worry about him," the police officer reached over, stroking the top of young Louis's head._

 

_All the boy could do in response was continue vomiting in the middle of the highway._

 

_-_

 

It smelled in his house.

 

Right when he entered his small house, the pungent cologne trailed into Louis's airway, an indication of a visitor. It must be Mother's newest lover, the one who left his filthy perfume in Lou's room. He found himself not minding as much, for his lips were still buzzing with heat.

 

"What're you smiling for?" asked Lottie, causing Louis to realize the lazy grin stretched across his face.

 

Lottie had Doris enveloped in her arms with Fizzy nuzzling Ernest against her stomach. They were crowded on the stained carpet, surrounded by a pile of dirty clothes.

 

"We should probably do some laundry," Louis ignored Lottie's question, the girls diverting their attention to their older sibling.

 

"I've been doing everything, Louis. It's not fair." Lottie piped up, a frown splaying across her features. She rested Doris on her belly, watching the gurgling girl attempt to crawl around.

 

"What's not fair?"

 

From the short hallway, Jay appeared with a cigarette between her acrylics. Her eyes seared with anger towards her oldest daughter, taking in a long drag of her smoke.

 

"I do all the laundry." Lottie murmured timidly, worried that she would quickly be punished for voicing her opinion.

 

Jay's nostrils flared, proving to everyone that she was growing irate. Louis truly didn't want his mood to be ruined, but he was sure it would if he stayed near.

 

"I have given you the clothes on your back. The least you can do is wash them every once in a while without complaining. Don't be a bratty little bitch, Lottie." she sneered, stepping towards the children.

 

It was all silence; even the babies were silent.

 

The absence of any sound. All Louis heard was the heavy breaths of Jay, and the stench of her cigarette was causing his head to pound.

 

He knew he should stay and defend his sister, but he was truly happy for the first time. He thought life was mediocre, but now he knew there was more beyond the walls of the abusive home she had built.

 

There was Harry, and laundry wasn't worth quarreling over.

 

He began walking to he and Ernest's bedroom, nodding slowly to the beat of his own footsteps. A rumble of thunder was heard outside.

 

_Phoebe and Daisy are going to be terrified. I should check on them._

 

He could hear Lottie beginning to yell, and Doris began to cry out for attention. Jay was bickering back in her bitter, venomous tone. Louis pushed it aside. He wasn't going to have his mood ruined.

 

His door was ajar, he noticed. And then he realized.

 

He wasn't truly safe. There was a reason he went to the institution today, and it wasn't to see Harry. It was about the people and their red. 

 

Thoughts were spinning in his head. So many things had grown and bloomed in his imagination. He was unsure what lay past the door, but he hoped it was something not to fear.

 

He entered his empty bedroom, but he was not relieved. His laundry lay on the floor, just like in all the other rooms, except a single difference struck his sight. Each garment was tinged the fearful color he kept encountering: rouge.

 

He was suddenly sick with grief at the appearance of it all. It was the color of blood, danger, anger, and it was all over his life.

 

Louis lunged towards his nightstand, yanking open the drawers that held his collection of drawings. The sight had brought him to his knees.

 

On display for him were more sheets of red paper, with the mysterious words etched onto it. "THEY'RE INSIDE YOU."

 

He grabbed the handful of notes, his voice too numb with shock to put to use. Every drawing was replaced with a flashing letter of the same threatening words.

 

He couldn't be imagining this. His father was never crazy; someone was after the family. Louis's mind was not contorted, sinister, crazy. His life was in shambles, and it was all due to the person ruining his things.

 

Sensitive Louis could no longer be okay. He could no longer stay the same and hide from the constant reassurances he gave himself. A legitimate, agonizing scream emitted from his throat. His hands balled into fists, tearing at the papers, at the realization that this monster took his prized possessions.

 

His drawings, some that had been from years ago, were all gone. He continued to scream over the yelling, the crying, and the storm.

 

The sinking feeling was cutting him too deeply. He began to bang his fists against the nightstand, wanting the red to leave his sight. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" he hollered between burning tears and a stinging throat.

 

"No! Get out of sight!" he mustered enough strength to push his nightstand aside, raw emotion seeping from him as he scrambled onto his feet. Tears were leaving, and his body felt as though it contained too much anger.

 

He swung his fists towards the wall, in a full mode of rampage. His day was ruined; Harry was no longer the highlight. His drawings were gone. His clothes were stained red. These men, whoever they were, were going to kill Louis.

 

His vision was changing, morphing into black sight as he began to lose himself. His fists continued to pound against the wall, leaving gaping holes and bleeding knuckles.

 

Louis hadn't realized that he was still hollering, his voice rocky and crackling between tearful breaths. His vision was as a flickering signal to a radio station; it came and went.

 

The ruddy substance dribbled down his nimble fingers, staining the carpet and his wall. He was wilting at the sight of more red, and his body was beginning to ache with adrenaline.

 

"They're inside me." he cried through seethed teeth, falling onto the floor once again. His knuckles trailed over his cheeks, stinging and blood melding with his tears.

 

Jay was suddenly standing there, her eyes dark and narrowed. Her son had finally reached his point of meltdown. He'd reached the age of his mental illness, and it had overtaken him.

 

He wouldn't be able to be the head of the household. He wouldn't work. He wouldn't take care of the children. He was fully crazed and disposable.

 

"Look at you," she spat through hot, angry lips. Her cheeks were flaming with fury, but Louis wouldn't know. His face was buried in his hands, releasing his sorrows into the blood stained hands.

 

"You are not stable. You are just like your fucking father. There are children here, Louis!" her voice was steadily growing, becoming higher-pitched and more emphatic.

 

Louis hadn't felt worse. He ached everywhere, his knuckles throbbed, and he was fearful of dying at the hands of the red men. His head was pounding, and the bile was rising to his throat.

 

He stood up, attempting to run towards the bathroom rather and clean his wounds.

 

He leaped, stumbling over the pile of tinged laundry and fading on the floor.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you think Louis is genuinely going insane, or do you think something else is going on? I'd love to hear your thoughts!


End file.
